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PS 635 



AMES' SERIES OF 

STANDARD AND MINOR DRAMA 
NO. 162. 



if j Copy 1 



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2. 



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FIELDING MANOR. 



WITH OAST OF CHARACTERS, ENTRANCKS, AND EXITS, RELATIVE POSITIONS 
OF THE PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE, DESCRIPTION OF COS- 
TUMES, AND THE WHOLE OP THE STAGE BUSINESS, 
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Ames' Edition of Plays. 

FIFTEEN CENTS EACH UNLESS OTHERWISE MARKED. 



1G4 After Ten Years 7 3 

166 A Texan Mother-in-Law 4 2 

168 A Pleasure Trip 7 '■'> 

169 A Regular Fix .0 4 

129 Aar-u-ag-oos 2 1 

132 Actor and Servant 2 

12 A Capital Match ?. 2 

30 A Day Well Spent 7 ^ 

2 A Desperate Game , 3 2 

7:> A<irift, 6 4 

SO Aiariuingly Suspicious ... 4 3 

136 A Legal Holiday 5 3 

39 A Life's Revenge.... 7 5 

124 An Afflicted Family ...;.. 7 5 

78 An Awful Criminal 3 3 

15 An Unha))py Pair .• 1 1 

65 An Unwelcome Return... 3 1 

31 A Pet of the Public 4 2 

21 A Romantic AttaohmeuL. 3 3 
43 Arriih de Baugh 7 5 

123 A Thrilling Item 3 1 

73 At Last 7 1 

20 A Ticket of Leave 3 2 

125 Auld Robin Gray 25e 13 3 

100 Aurora Floyd . ..' 7 3 

89 Reautv of Lyons U 2 

8 Better Half 5 2 

98 Black Statue 3 2 

113 Bdl Detrick 6 4 

86 Black vs White 4 2 

14 Brigands of Calabria G 1 

160 Conn ; or, Love's Victory li 3 

22 Captain Smith .'. 3 3 

84 Cheek Will Win 3 

145 Cuffs Luck 2 1 

161 Dora 5 2 

49 Der Two Surprises 1 1 

72 Deuce is in Hin) 5 I 

19 Did I Dream it 4 3 

42 Domestic Felicity I I 

61) Driven to the Wall 10 3 

i52 Driven from Home^ 7 4 

143 Emigrant's Daughter 8 3 

148 Eh?' What Did You Say.. 3 1 

173 East Lynne <^ 6 

162 FieldingManor ...9 6 

27 Fetter Lane to fJravesend.. 2 

154 Fun in a Post Onice.. ...... 4 2 

13 Give Me My Wife 3 3 

117 Hal Hazard, 25c 8 3 

76 How He Did It 3 2 



24 Handy Andy 2 

66 Hans, the Dutch .J. P 3 1 

116 Hash 4 2 

52 Henry Granden II 8 

141 Hidilen Trcisures 4 2 

17 Hints on Elocution 

130 Hints, to Amateurs 

153 Haunted H-.use 2 

103 How Sister Paxev got Her 

Child Baptized 2 1 

50 How She has Own W.iv... I 3 

140 How He Popl^ed Que.~r'n.. 1' 1 

74 How toTaine M-in-Law.. 4 2 

35 HoAv Stout Y'r Getting ... 5 
26 Hunterof ihe Alps......... 9 

47 In the Wrong Box 3 

95 In the AVrong Clothes 5 

77 Joe's Visit 2 

II John Smith 5 

99 Jumbo Jum 4 

82 Killing Time 1 

9 Lady Audley's Secret 6 

3 LadyofLvons 12 5 

127 Lick Skillet Wedding 2 2 

106 Lodgings for Two .'! 

104 Lost 6 

158 Mr. Hudson's Tiger Hunt 1 

163 .Miriams Crime 5 

46 Man and Wife 12 

139 Matrimonial Bliss 1 

91 Micliael Erie 8 

36 Millerof Derwcnt W'lr... 5 

88 Mischievous Nigger 4 

34 Mistletoe Bough 7 

69 Mother's Fool (i 

1 Mr. and Mrs. Prinu'le 7 

23 My Heart's in Ilii^hl'ds.. 4 

32 Mv Wi'e's Relations 4 

128 Musical Darkey 2 

149 New Years in N. Y 7 

90 No Cure, No Pay 3 

61 Not as Deaf as He Seenis 2 

37 Not So Bad Afior All 6 

44 Obedience ] 2 

81 Old Phil's Birlhduv 5 2 

150 Old Pdmpev " 1 1 

33 On the Sly." 3 2 

109 her People's Chihiren.. 3 2 

146 Our AwiurAup.t 4 4 

126 Our Daughters 8 6 

85 Outcast's Wife 12 3 



Fielding Manor, 

A DRAMA, 

IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS, 

DEAMATIZED BT 

i 

DR. M. L. WRIGHT, 

From Edwin Faucet's storv entitled "THE FALSE FRIEND." 



WITH A DESCRIPTIOX OF THE COSTUMES — CAST OF THE CHARACTERS — EXTRAXCES 

AND EXITS — RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS ON THE 

STAGE — AND THE WHOLE OP THE STAGE 

BUSINESS. 



Entered according to act of Congress m the year 1885, by 

A. D. AMES, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



>yj:}LcJll 



-* CLYDE, OHIO, J- 



A. D. AMES, PUBLISHER. 



^.^ .^ 



FIELDING MANOR. 






Original Cast of charactors as produced at the Opera House, Chardon Ohio, Sep- 
tember 13th., 1882. 



Lucian Glyre [an AnKrican Adventurer] Dr. M. L. Wright 

Cuthbert Fielding [An Englishman] Dr. A. L. Bennett 

Cyril (xarland, [A SiihaUern] Dr. Chas. A. Wihon 

Abercrombie Courtwell, [in love with Jiehecca] Mr. lorn Durban 

General Stanley Mr. Wm.H. Oshorne 

Andrew, [anoldliei-vant'] Mr. C. W. Osborne 

Martin, Mr. P.P. Stone 

Bayard Mr. Will Barrows 

Bailiff, Mr. J. J. Quiggle 

Edith Fielding, [betrothed to Cyril] Mrs. F.P.Arnold 

Sina, Chaunccy, [divorced wife of Olyre] Mrs. Je^inie Charters 

Rebecca Stanley, [in dread of a Step-mother] Miss Lizzie Marsh 

Eugenia Maitland, [oneoftheBon Ton] '...Miss CoraTucker 

Margaretta Maitland, [her echo] Miss Joe Bartlett 

Lady Ogden, [anutto Edith] Miss Ella Osbottie 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY. 

PROLOGUE.— A rocky pass in fourth grooves. Set water R. 2 e. and e.3e. Ground 
piece s. 1 k. Becliniug rock, c. Set rocks l. 2 e. and I.. 3 e. 

ACT FIRST.— Liiwa and grounds of Fielding Manor. Cut wood r. 3 e.; rustic bench 
R. 3 E., and rustic bench r. 2 e. Statue c. at back. Set house L. 2 E., with steps lead- 
ing down to the stage. A ru.stic bench l. 1 e. in front of steps. 

ACT SECOND. — Library at Fielding Manor. Set door r. 3 e.; set fire-place r. 2e. 
Centre door, [open], backed by garden flats; chair k. 3e., chair e. 2k.; table L.c. with 
a chair right of it. Chair e. 3 e.; sofa l. 2 e. 

ACT THIRD. — Drawing-room at Fielding Manor. Door c; set door E. 3 E.; chair 
R. 2 E.; two chairs r. c. and L. c; table l. 3 e.; chair l. 2 e. 

ACT FOUBTH.— Same as act third. 



PROPERTIES. 

PROLOGUE. — Iv^o g;uns, 2 cups, a pail of water behind the set water, haversack 
with letters, pocket bible, a bound volume, a ring for Cuthbert, brandy flask. 

A CT FIRST. — Two garden benches, invalid chair, spectacles, telegram, satchel and 
and strap, bible, ring, staff. 

ACT SECOND.— Two chairs, 2 arm chairs, table, sofa, fire in fire-place, moonlight, 
thunder and lightning, 2 blank papers, writing materials, books on table, 2 da- 
guerreotypes, a sure-fire pistol, journal. 

ACT THIRD. — Stand, table, writing material, books, blank paper, bell pull, 4 

chairs, cane. 
A CT FO UBTH.—S&e act third. Brown patch, wig, hand-cuffs. 



TIME OF PEKFOKMANCE— TWO HOUKS. 



TMP92-007632 



FIELDING MANOR, 



PROLOGUE. 



SCENE IN AUSTRALIA. A liochj Pass in foxirih groovca — fiurr. 
music at rise of curtain. Enter Ccthbekt and LuciEN, L. 2 e., with guns — 
the.!/ are looking off h. 

Cuthhert. (l. c.) They have gone ! 

Glyre. (r. c.) I shouhi not be surprised; they must have been smaller 
in number thaif I supposed. They have carried away the man I shot — 
though I am afraid, Stanley, they have gone only to return with reinforce- 
ments. 

Cicth. Most probably, though they may be hidden somewhere near at 
hand, and mean to spring on us from some ambuscade. • 

Glyre. No, I think now that, we are safe. But you seem tired, Stanley, 
you can usually out-walk me. 

Cuth. I am not tired Glvre. I nm— ill. 

Glyre. Ill ? 

Cuth. Yes, beyond question. I tried to shake off the feeling when it first 
came upon me about two hours ago, but it will not be shaken olT. I have 
a dull pain in my limbs, and a sensation of giddiness — I have never before 
felt 60 strangely. 

Glyre. You have over exerted yourself, we must rest awhile. 

Cuth. {faintly) Yes, I think we'd better. (noise outside l. h. 

Glyre. (lookivg l. k.) Goodhenvens! those cut-throats are really after 
us. It is as we feared — the}' have reinlorced themselves, and gone back to 
the cave and have discovered our departure with the booty they came to 
seek. The damp clnyey ronds we at first were compelled to take, have 
shown them our loot-[)riuts. It's lucky we heard them, while here in this 
■gulch. They'll think we have made for the great main road to the city, 
which lies just beyond. 

Cuth. What's to be done? my head aches frightfully, Glyre. I fear I am 
going to have an attack of real illness. 

Glyre. Nonsense, old fellow, don't give way to it. Crouch down just here; 
let them pass — they'll never find us among these rocks, Stanley, mind that. 
Quick, see there are several of them now. This way. 

Music. They secret themselves, l. Enter several Robbers, r. 2 e., they look 
cautiously around, and exit l. 2 e. After pause, Glyre and Cuthbert 
come down, Cuthbert falls wearily on rock, c. 

Glyre. There, I think we've escaped those devils. They'll acknowledge 
we have given them the slip, and go back baffled to the diggins. 
Cuth. {hoarsely) Glyre — Glyre — I must sjieak with you. 
Glyre. What is it? Do you think those fellows are near us'/ 
Cuth. {with efort) No, but Bomething else ia near me. 



^ FIELDING MANOR. 

Glyre, Something else ! What do you mean? 
Cuth. I mean death, Glyre — I mean, I am dying! 
Glyre. {springing up) Good heavens man, what are you saying T 
Cuth. The truth, yes, Glyre the truth ; feel how cold my hands are. 
Glyre. Nonsense, they're chilly — there can't be anything serious the 
matter with you, it's only a passing indisposition — in the mean time I'll 
prospect a little. By jove, Stanley, I never saw a more promising spot in 
which to pick up a little more gold. 

Cuth. {wearily) Gold ! I never saw a less promising spot for it, Glyre. 
Glyre. No, indeed, my boy, you're wrong there. You may have mined 
in Mexico — but recollect I have washed in Cnlifornia. What a magnificent ■ 
region this is. What a glorious river this must have been — many is the 
ounce, aj'e many's the pound of g!)ld. I believe that has washed down from 
those barren crags. Only notice theends of the rocks, their angles reveal 
their original size ; what sort of a torrent must it have been that washed 
them from up there, perhaps ages before any living thing ever trod or crept • 
upon the surface of this world. 

Cuth. You may be riglit — but I am too weak to share your enthusiasm, 
my friend. 

'Glyre. You're tired, Stanley, that's all. Sleeping in the dark hole yon- 
der, has chilled you. 

Cuth. Glyre, I have never asked your confidence, and believe me it is 
no idle curiosity that prompts me to do so now. Will you tell me your his- 
tory •? , 

Gli/re. Willingly, though I fear it will weary you. I was the only son 
of a wealthy planter, reared in luxury, petted and spoiled and accustomed 
from boyhood, to rule as my least whim directed — a hord of cringing negroes. 
Educated at a Northern College, I acquired no Northern sympathies. Re- 
turning to my father's plantation, I had for a few years held there the posi- 
tion of a young despot; when the war broke out, I joined the Rebel forces 
under the r.\nk of Captain, eagerly taking the first plnce assigned me. At 
the end of the war, I was unharmed and fit liberty, with the hollow title of 
Colonel, and the dread uncertainty of finding a shattered heritage when I 
returned home, which I did after the hopeless disbanding of the Confeder- 
ate troops. I arrived home just in time to receive my father's last kiss and 
blessing. Well, after the funeral, I turned my back forever upon what had 
once been Myrllewood. I was not entirely penniless, and after gathering 
what I could, 1 started for California ; arrived at San Francisco, and after 
being there a short time with the usual ups and downs, I became acquaint- 
ed with a rich banker's daughter, and after a short courtship we were mar- 
ried. Our married life was anythmg but harmonious, my wife was untrue 
to me — and perhaps I was not the best husband in the world — the end of it 
was, that the San Francisco Courts gave nie a divorce, and possession of our 
only child — a boy — after that I went to Mexico where I met you, and you 
know the rest. 

Cuth. Yes, I remember how we met in Alexico, and after fruitless labors 
we sailed together for Australia ; how after we arrived I fell from the gang 
plank into the bay, and would have drowned but for your aid. 

Glyre. There! There old fellow ! Say no more about it — we have been 
brothers ever since. 

Cuth. Yes brothers ! {aside) I must trust him. {aloud) Glyre, I may as 

well tell you everything, I don't know whnt has kept me silent so long 

Glyre. I do, Stanley. You're an Englishman. 

Cuth. I believe you are riirhl— you are nearly always right, Glyre, in 
all your judgments! have found. You saved my life, perhaps it has been 
almost churlish to withold any confiilen(;e from one whom I so honor and 
respect. But you don't know what British pride of blood is. I have never 
yet had it quite knocked out of me — I hated to pronounce our family name 
amid such surroundings as you and I have seen; but let me hesitate no 
lonfer mv friend, that name is Fielding — mine Cuthbert Fielding. 



FIELDING MANOR. 5 

Glr/re. Cuthbert Fielding ! And some title attached lo it. Eh, Stanley ? 

Cuth, No, we Fieldings have never had a title, three times in past nine 
hundred years we have refused one ; that is one of our boasts — Fielding 
Manor — our home, is in Derbyshire, it is the noblest estate for many miles 
about. There has been plenty of Cuthbert Fieldings before me, but they all 
sleep now in the old family vault. I have one sister as you know--her 
name is Edith. My aunt Catherine however rules the household as she al- 
ways did even in my mother's life time. Aunt Catherine i^ a woman of great 
ability — she has immense pride — she believes that a Fif-lding can do no 
wrong — she thinks doubtless thai an alliance with royalty itself could not 
honor us. She is now in her eightieth year, and the letter she last wrote me 
was sent from a. sick bed, but Edith tells me that her indomitable will and 
fine clear mind, are both as strong as ever. I believe it is the first that keeps 
her alive. She was my father's sister, and married at an early age, Lord. 
Ogden, a baron of historic descent. He died while she was still a young 
■woman leaving her childless and possessed of a very large property. She 
has made Edith her heiress ; her great jointure not being entailed upon her 
husband's kindred. 

Glyre. Then your sister is what one would call a remarkable match, 

Cuih. Yes — but she tells me in her last letter, that she is betrothed to a 
cousin of ours, Cyril Garland, {mith great difficulty) whom she has known 
since childhood, they were playmates together. {faintly) Glyre — I've — 
I've caught the bush-plague. 

Glyre. How absurd! Your feelings will pass away in an hour or so. 
{lookinq around) This conversation has tired you; lend me that cup there 
and I'll try my luck alone. {takes cup and exits e. 2 e. 

Re-enters u. 3 b., in stream and proceeds to turn loatcr from one cup to the other. 

Cuth. {feebly) Glyre, will you do me a favor? 

Glyre. {in stream) A favor, Stanley, certainly. 

Cuth. You saved my life not long ago ; your friendship has been very dear 
to me ever since. 

Glyre. Don't be morbid and make so much of what in this wild life is so 
common, {examininij contents of cup) Not yet ! Not yet! {continues loork) 
Well, what is this favor, Stanley ? 

Cuth. I have caught the plague, Glyre. I feared it before — now I am 
sure of it. 

GJyre. {laughing — still busy) Why man, if it were the plague, your skin 
would now be the color of this cup ; you would reek with perspiration, 
and your feet would be as cold as ice. But again, I ask what is this favor 
you speak of — {breaking off joyfully) I knew it! I said it! Hurrah ! Hur- 
rah ! Gold ! Gold ! 

Rushes off ^. 3 e., and re-enters a. 2 k. Rushes to Cuthbert toith wild delight. 

Glyre. See! See! Look how the sediment in this cup shines. I was right 
after all — we shall both be rich men — millions on millions are locked up in 
these bleak hills, and we, we alone, have found them, {look at Cuthbeet) 
Why, what's the matter man? You actually turn away 

Cuth. {faintly) It comes too late for me — too lata — too late ! 

Glyre. {aside) What if he should die and leave me alone in this terrible 
wilderness. Without his help I shall get but little of this gold — ah ! how 
infernal 6uch a stroke of ill luck would be. There is no one for miles and 
miles to whom I would dare trust such a secret; if I breathed it to any 
living person, the place in a few days time would swarm with gold hunters. 
{taking flask and handing it to Cvthkert) Here, drink some of this. 

Cuih. Glyre, when you have heard what this favor is, I know you'll do 
it foi- me. 'Tis a hard death to die — name, fortune, family, home, all wait- 
ing for me, and I fall on the way. England has been but little to me in 



•6 FIELDING MANOR. 

life, but I wished I could have lain on his bosom in death. Get my bag, Glyre, 
it is somewhere here beside me on the rock ; I unslung it only a moment 
ago. 

Glyre. (gettin'g it) Here it is. 

Cuth. Get the packet o{ letters from it. Have you found it? 

Glyre. Yes, here they are. [ivhittlc ouUide l. h. Glyre ■•springs up and 
siezcs gun looks off l. h.) What was that? 

CuiTi. (family) What? I heard nothing ? (pause. 

Glyre. (reseating himself) I thought I heard a whistle, but it must have 
been a fancy. 

Cuth. (in a half whi.'spcr) You don't think those cut-throats, are still on 
our track do you ? 

Glyre. Oh, surely not. Come, come ! have courage, you will get over 
this, you must. 

Cuth. (weakly) Take those papers ; with them you will find a journal of 
my life, up to the time we left the diggings. 

Glyre. (looking at journal) This is not a journal, it looks more like a 
record of the anecdotes of your past lile. 

Cuth. (very weak) It is. Amid the frequent calms on shipboard, I used 
to find strange pleasure during my sailor days in recording thus the most 
trivial occurances of my boyhood. 

Gli/re. Why, I never knew you were a poet, Stanley. (reads. 

"But truth were falsehood; honor, shame. 
And right on earth would end 
If he that bears the Fioldinjr name 
Should once betray a friend." 

Cuth. I did not write those verses : they are in a manner, the motto of 
our house — they were written by some ancestor of ours long ago, in the reign 
of Charles the First. 

Glyre. Do you feel better, old fellow? 

Cuth. Worse if anything. There is a pocket bible there in the bag 
also Glyre, the gift of my aunt, you will see her name and mine on the fly 
leaf, and the same motto written there as well. If I die — or — or if those 
devils should overtake us and you only should escape, carry all these things 
to Fielding Manor, Derbyshire, England. And take also thi> little ring — 
unknot it from iuy waist-coat please, my own lingers are too weak for even 
that tiisk nou'. My sister Edith — poor little darling, gave it to me on her 
seventh birth-day, in exchange for a watch I gave her. Tell them where I 
died, and how I died. Then, Glyre return here if you will, and wring from 
them the millions that you say are in these barren hills. 

OuTHEERT falls back fainting, a whistle heard without l. h. GhXRy, starts up 
wildly. Music Tremolo pp till end of act. 

Glyre. Those whistles are disguised signals. Stanley! Stanley! They 
are after us, make one more eflbrt to get back to the cave. 

Cuth. (partly recovering) It may — be — the note of some stray leather- 
head, (vihistlc outside L. H. 

Glyre. No! They are after us, they have discovered our trick in eludin_ 
them. Stanley won't you try to let rae support you back to the caveo 
Tries to hclp^CvTRHERT, but after raising him to sitting posture he falls back. 

Cuth. (gasping) It's no use — save yourself; leave rae here — [iromise to 
tell them at home, (whistle again l. h.) They're whistling again, you hear 
it? 

Glyre. I do, but it may come from miles away : these hills are perfect 
whispering galleries. If I could only get you back to that masked cliff, 
we might escape them yet. 

CutJv (I'jith difficulty) I — could not — live there — five — minutes, that 
tole — would stifle me. Now the papers — the books — the money — hide them 



FIELDING MANOR. 7 

— and hide yonrself— ray poor sister — poor Aunt Catherine, {to GlykeI I 
hs7Q your word. 

Falls back faint hi<], c. Glyre goes to hvn and a.isures himself that he m dead. 
Noise outside has been increasing, is now very plain. 

Glyre. He is dead ! I can do him no good and I must save myself, {takes 
bag and vioncij belt) Now for the masked oliti'. 

£.Tit L. H., hurriedly as curtain descends. Music changes to ff, 

CUBTAIX. 

END OF PROLOGUE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Lawn and grounds of Fielding Manor. Cat wood r. 3 e. ; rustic 
bench r. 3 e., and rustic tiench r. 2 e. Statue c, at back. Set house l. 2 e., 
with steps leading down to the stage. A rustic bench l. 1 e., infront of steps. 
Edith and Nina, discovered seated k. 2 e. Music at rise of curtain. 

Edith. And so Nina, it is true that you have never seen your child since 
the hour your heartless husband stole him from you? 

Nina. Never. After the San Francisco courts decided against me, I 
found that a slight wreck still remained from poor father's fortune. I knew 
that I could never see my child again except at bis bidding, and I had not 
the s'ightest idea whither he had fled. People turned from me in cold 
avoidance. I longed to come where I was not known, where this undeserv- 
ed stigma might not rest upon me, so I started for England and finally 
drifted to this part of it, renting the modest little cottage down in the vil- 
lage. 

Edith. Poor Nina, how you must have suffered. But it relieves me to have 
you tell us your story at last ; we have been friends for so many months, 
and you have kept silent regarding the past — of course you hated to stir up 
bitter memories — [ understand that {noise and laughter outside r. 2 e. 

Voices, {outside) Bayard! Bayard I 

Nina. Who is Bayard? 

Edith. Oh ! he's a famous orator among our people, he monopolizes all 
the speech-making at every harvest home. 

Nina. Will they speak of your brother's expected return? 

Edith. They have already discussed it at great length. {lazighinQ. 

Nina, {taking her hand) And you— are you not intensely happy at the 
thought of this return ? 

Edith, {joyfully) Happy! Oh, I can hardly wait for the moment, when 
dear Cuthbert will arrive. I am prepared to love him so. He is the head 
of our family — the heir of our name. I have seen his face in my dreams 
for weeks past, ever since we received that last letter from him, dated at 
Melbourne, telling of his illness in Australia, and his subsequent recovery. 

Bayard, {outside) Well, lads, I'm not much at speech making as you all 
know, but I could talk about Miss Edith Fielding from sowin' to reapin' 
time — the kind mistress who neverjdisirained a tenant, the angel who's visits 
to our households are neither few nor far between, the hope and pride of 
the Fielding name. Here's three cheers and a good husband for her. 

Voices, {outside R. 2 E.) Hip, hip. Hurrah ! Hurrah! Hurrah! 

Bayard, {outside R. 2 e.) And a small one in. 

Voices, {outside e. 2 e.) Hurrah 1 



5 FIELDING MANOR. 

2\ina. How they love you. I should so like to see them, ithey both rise. 

Edith, (r. c.) So you can — their tables extend just beyond there under 
the largest trees. It is not etliquette for itio to appear until evening, then 
I must open the dance. Oh, if brother Cuthbert were only here to open it 
with me ! 

Nina, {smiling) I am afraid your popularity would be eclipsed in that 
case. 

Edith. All the better if it is. He is the real master — I am only the 
regent, who reigns in his absence. 

Nina, [kissing her) I so liope that he may arrive to-day. And now I 
suppose you are going in to Lady Ogden, your aunt — she must be in a very 
anxious state. 

Edith. She is, indeed. I fear that the excitement of awaiting Cuthbert, 
has already told upon her. You know her convalescence alter that long ill- 
ness has only just begun. But you will not go yet, Nina? I shall see you 
again presently ? 

Nina. (r. c.) Yes, I will return soon ; I will join you in doors. I wish 
to see Lady Ogden, and pay her my respects and congratulations — dear old 
lady. She and you have been such good friends to me, Eililh — without 
your recoj;nition and wnrm-heartedness how lonely would my lot have been 
here in this strange land. 

Edith. Now, that I have heard your story, Nina, I feel that we are only 
drawn closer together. Aunt and I were sure of you from the first — wc 
believed in you, trusted you before knowing a word of the truth — always 
remember that. (i^^'cy embrace — Xw.v each other, exit Nina e. u. e. 

Enter Cyril with telegraph diipatch, l. h., from house, comes down l. c. 

Edith, {coming dcnon c.) Ah, Cyril, is that you ? 

Cyril, (l. c, handing dispatch) Here is a telegratn, Edith. 

(Edith takes itoyens it, and reads. 

Bayard, {ouffide) Here's three cheers lads, for Miss Ediih's intended 
husband, Mr. Cyril Garland, and may he prove as kind a master as she has 
been mistress. 

Voices:, {outside) Hip-hip — hurrah, hurrah, hurrah I 

Bayard, {outside) Aud a small one 'in. 

Voices {outside) Hurrah ! 

Edith, {after reading it) Oh, Cyril, it is from Cuthbert, my brother Cuth- 
bert. He will be with us by the next train. 

Cyril, {taking telegram and looking at it) I suppose you are delighted, 
indeed. 

Edith, {saucily) Well, have you any objections, sir ? 

Cyril, {laur/hivg) No end of them — I am prepared to be very jealous. 
{changing tone, .seriously) Edith, I can't help wondering now and then 
whether your brother, will be willing to give the lady of Fielding Manor, 
to a poor subaltern like me. 

Edith, {laughing) Of course he will not. If you say such foolish things, 
Cyril, you must expect to be answered according to your folly. Come now, 
let us go in and show this telegram to Aunt Catherine. It will overwhelm 
her with joy — she will want us to wheel her out here upon the lawn in her 
invalid chair; you know she has an idea that the heir of Fielding Manor, 
should be welcomed home under these ancestral poplars. 

(exit Edith a7id Cyril, arm in arminto house, h, h. 

. .Enier General Stanley, Efbscca and Abercrombie l. u. e. Enter Andrew 
from house l. h. 

General, {to Andrew) Present our compliments to Lady Ogden, and 
Miss Edith Fielding, and say that we have called to offer congratulations 
in the expected return of Mr. Cuthbert Fielding. 

Andrew, Yes, sir. {bows and exit- slowly into house, Ij. b. 



FIELUmG MANOR. 9 

Rebecca, (l. c.) Oh, nonsense pa! they'd have used that form a hundred 
years ago. {looking about to Abeb) What a lovely place this is ? So much 
finer than the grange, (misclncvousli/) The woman who marries Mr. Cuthbert 
Fielding, will be lucky indeed. I've always had a presentiment that I 
should fall in love with him at first sight. 

Aber. {worried) Now don't, Rebecca, I can't stand it — you know I can't. 

Rebecca, {quickly in tragical voice] Abercrombie! you know that matri- 
mony is not for me. Wliflt is the woman who now stands before you ? 

Aber. What is she ? Oh, I know Rebecca — it's a rebus isn't it. Yor 
guess yourself into a headache one week and then, buy next week's an- 
swer to cure it. 

Rebecca, {angrily tosxing her head) Abby, I sometimes think, that you 
have the intellect of a gnat. I repeat, sir, what is the woman 
who stands before you? One who for years past has been haunted by a 
ghost, {tragically) And what is that ghost ? A step-mother I Ever siuee 
poor ma died, pa has been perpetually threatenini,' me with a step-mother, 
old and young, pretty and ugly — they are all trying to inveigle him and I 
regret to say {with -melanrholly) that pa shows a very marked desire fo be 
inveigled, {looking around at the General-i«Ao has fallen into a doze on garden 
bench c-, his head bobbin. i from side to side) You'd never think he was such 
a flirt to look at him now, would you ? He's fallen asleep. I suppose he's 
dreaming of her. 

Aber. Of her ? whom ? 

Rebecca. Of a step-mother ! 

Aber. Perhaps he's dreaming of a son-in-law — perhaps he's dreaming of 
me. 

Rebecca, {curtly) Oh, no — pa's never troubled with nightmare. {look- 
ing L. 1 E.) Ah! there comes those old maids, the Misses Mailland. "They 
have a dreadful fascination over pa. I don't know Abby, which he prefers 
best — I think he likes them both equally. 

The General has awakened and comes doion r. c, as the Misses Maitland 

enter R. 1 E. 

Eurjenia. {entering) Ah! Good morning. General. 

Maraaretta. {entering) Yes! Good morning. General, {rapidly crossing 
to Generai, and shaking hands extravagantly. 

General. Ladies, your most obedient. 

{gives arm to each of the ladies, and they go up c, talking. 

Rebecca, (l. c., looking savagely at them — to Abby) Just look at pa — he 
seems perfectly intoxicated. 'This well never do — we must get him away 
from thoes two harpies. 

Aber. He needs a good muscular, determined son-in-law to control him. 
Ke has reached that desperate stage of gallantry, where nothing but brute 
force can have any effect on him, 

Abercrombie and Rebecca talk together l. h. General and the Misses 
Maitland come down c. 

Eugenia, (r. c.) Ah, General! you say the most charming things, no 
wonder you used to be such a great London beau. 
Margaretta. (r. c.) Yes — such a great London beau. 

The General has been paying marked attention to both of them until Nina 
enters r. u. e., when he leaves them, and goes up and greets her with great 
show of courtesy. Eugenia a7id Margaretta are both very much shocked. 

Eugenia, (r. h.) Margaretta, it is that objectionable Mrs. Chauncy who 
rented the Morrison Cottage and whom nobody but Edith Fielding and her 
aunt, has ever visited. 

Margardta. (r, c.) Yes — ever visited. How can Edith and her 
auut> iiady Ogdea visit a person of whom they know actually nothing ? 



W FIELDING MANOR. 

Eugenia, {with a sigh) To think of such raw democracy, in one vrhos© 
mother was a MaitlanJ ? 

Margardta. Yes — a Maitlaml. {t^ey go up stage r. h. 

Rebecca, (k. c, to Aber) How on earth, did pa ever fall in with that 
woman? He's scarcelv beon out of my sight for weeks, except when I let 
him go to the village last Thursday to buy a mowing machine. 

Aber. (r, /ooA-m-; a?! jSixa) She's awfully handsome. I've seen her walk- 
ing along the road several liines lately ; goes in for the melancboUy style. 
Persons! with a past — heart that breaks and brokenly lives on — perpetually 
dressed in mourning for heaven knows whom, and all that sort of thing. 

{both crossing to i.. H. 

General, {coming doxon with IN'ina l, c, and infroducinq her to others) 
Mrs. Chauncy,'allovv me to make you acquainted with the Misses Maitland, 
Eugenia and Margaretta, My daughter Miss Rebecca Stanley, and Mr. 
Abercrombie Courtwell. 

NiSA acknowledges the introductions then talks to Gexbrai, jro-in^ jtp c._ Position 
at iyitrodve'ion.* 

Eugenia, (to Margaretta) These adventuresses are sO'Cunning,of course 
she is trying lo entrap the poor General — we must save him, 

Tlicy both start to go up to Gesekau who has gone up c, with "Sii-sx. Rebecca 
intercepts them and lat/n her hand upon, the General's arm. 

Rebecca. ' (c.) There's a strong breeze just here dear pa, you must move 
away— remember your Rheumatism, (turns to Nina) I have to be so care- 
ful of him, Mrs. Chauncey, he suflers so dreadfuily from Rheumatism, {she 
discovers that IjE'serai, has gone to the MissKS Maitland and hurries to him) 
No— rno — not there either pa dear; it's just as dangerous there. 

{pushes htm up to garden bench r. c. 

Evgenia. (r. c, to General) You have a cliarraing thoughtful daughter, 

Margaretta. (r. C.) Yes — thoughtful daughter. 

General, {coughing; on bench) Ahem I Yes, but — ahem I there's such a 
thing something as being too careful. 

Eugenia, {with a spiteful laugh) Oh, my dear General, I quite agree with 
yon. 

Margaretta. Yes — quite agree with you. 

Nina, {a.^ide l. c.) JThe situation is getting too warm for me, I had best 
stroll back to the Manor ; if the General speaks to me again, I suppose I am 
not safe from personal violence- on his daughter's part. 

iS'iNA, goes up and stands u. c. Lady Ogden is loheeled in iinth invalid chair 
from L. V. K., to r. c, by Cyril and Andrew — Ei>ith following, all gather 
round Lady Ogden-I 

General, (c.) Are you not imprudent thas to brave the coming night 
dews, in your feeble condition of health? 

Lady 0. I have not been for a twelve month upon the lawn of Fielding 
Manor, nor for longer than that time have I stood erect. But it is on the 
lawn of Fielding Manor, and in no other attitude that I will receive Cuth- 
bert Fielding our returned heir, the last of our^ine; we are nine centuries 
old — think of that — nine centuries — and now that Cuthbert comes back to 
us, there shall be — please God — a Fielding in the Manor for as many cen- 
turies to come. ■ (Music pp. 

■■■R. Eugenia. Margaretta. Nina. General. Rebecca, Abercrombie. l. 



fNiNA. Cyril. General. 

Andrew. Lady Ogden. Edith. Rebecca. 

Eugenia. Margaretta. Abercrombik. 



FIELDIKG MANOR. '' 

Edith, {near porch looking off h. n.) Oh, aunt, aunt! He is here! He ie 
here 1 

Lady Ogben grasps her siaff which Andrew hands her, and totters to her feet 
LuciAN Gi.TRE enters from house l. h. Stands an inst-ant. Picture — chord. 

Edith, (l. <;.) Oh ! Cuthbert 1 I am so glad you have come back. 
(she fall into his arms as he gets on last step. , 
Glyrc. (aside) How beautiful she is. 
Edith, (looking at htm) You are changed — changed ! 

(she leads him to Lady Ogden', r. c. 
Lady O. {putting both her hnnd^ on his shoulders) Oh, my boy! My boy ! 
These eyes are so — so dim with tears that — that 1 4I> n't see you. Andrew, 
my spectacles, get them for nie — jiut them on, I can't find them. 

She fumbles on watch cham for thevi^ Andkew takes them and puts them on her. 
'NiVA cojncsdown R. H~ 

Nina. (r. h., bewildered) Am I dreaming? 
Lady 0. Now, I can see you. 

Glyke kisses her forehead, Lady Ogdex looking intentlt/ some time, she starts 
back shuddering. 

Glyre. (frightened) What is it, Aunt Catherine? (very kindly) Ah, you 
aro still weak and ill. Let me help you back into your chair. 

Lady O. (gasping) No, no — Andrew will. (Andrew helps her to chair r. 
c, she falls into it shuddering) I do not recognize a feature of tlie Fieldings in 
his lace. 

Edith, (bending over Lady Ogdex, fondly) Why 1 What is the matter 
aunt? Are you not well? Has the meeting with dear Cuthbert, been too 
much for you? (stroking her hand. 

General, (t.. c, to Glyke) Mr. Fielding, let me welcome you back to 
your old homo. (shaking hands. 

Glyre. (c."i Thanks, thanks ! 

Ge'ierat. And now let me present the Misses Maitland, whom you per- 
haps remember. My daughu-r, Miss Rebecca Stanley. Your sister's affi- 
anced husband, Mr. Cyril Garland, and tuy near kinsman, Mr. Abercrom- 
bie Couilwell. («/'/ acknowledge introduction. 

Glyre. What does this extraordinnry behavior niean ; why am I subject- 
ed to it from one who should be the wannest in weiccming me home ? 

Eugenia. You must recollect Mr, Fielding, that Lady Ogden is very old. 

Margaretta. Yes — very old. 

Rebecca, (coqucttislily smiling at Glyre) Lady Ogden'a memory must be 
nearly gone you know. 

Aber. (ivith a knowing nod) Remember she ia over eighty. 

Lady O. (still sLaring at Glyre) Aud you are Cuthbert Fielding. Cap 
it be possible ? 

Glyre. (laughing) I suppose I have changed a good deal in fifteen years. 
But I am Cuthbert, there's no mistake about that Aunt Catherine — the 
scnmp of the family as you used to call me. 

Lady 0. So I did — so 1 did. 

Edith, (reproachfully) Oh, aunt, your greeting is colder than I expected 
it Would be, but you are unstrung, e.xcited ; you had best let Cyril and An- 
drew wheel you back into the house, and in a little while I am sure that 
my dear brother, will have convinced you very thoroughly that he is Cuth- 
bert Fielding. 

Nina, (coming R. c.) He ie not Cuthbert Fielding.* (Chord — Picture. 

"' *Andrew. Cyril. Glyre. General. 

Maegaretxa. Lady Ogden. Edith. 

EuQEKiA.. I^iNA. Eebecca. Abebcsohbib. 



IS FIELDING MANOR. 

Ediih. (c.) Nina I What do you mean? 

Nina, {pointing at Glyre) I mean that this man's name is Lucian Glyre, 
that he is an American, and was my husband. 

Omnes. Lucian Glyre! An Americaul Her husband I 
Nina, {still pointing) Ask him I 

Gltke token first accused is very much frightened, but by this time has fully re- 
covered himself and stands motionless, c. 

Edith. Surely, Nina — you must be mad ! 

Nina. Not so, Edith, what I sny is the truth — nothing but the truth, and 
I now repeat it in the presence of all these people, {poijiting again) That 
man is named, Lucian Glyre. He is an American, and was ray husband, 

Edith, {alarmed) Your husband ? 

Nina. Ask him ! bold and bad ns he .is, he dare not deny it! 

Glyre. (c, with folded arms, calmly) What that lady speaks is false in 
fact, though true in her belief. 

Edith, {quickly) Are you not my brother ? 

Glyre. I am. 

Edith, {pointing to 'N IS X.) Were you this lady's husband ? 

Glyre. {with 7nelancholly) I ivas. 

Edith, {eagerly) You were I Then that at least is true. But — but she 
says your name is Glyre. 

Glyre. (the same) It was. 

Edith, {bewildered) Oh, I do not understand. How can what you say b© 
possible — if yet 

Glyre. I will explain, {everybody listen.^ eagerly) Not wishing to drag 
the name of Fielding through the paths which I have been obliged to tread, 
I assumed that of Lucian Glyre ; under that name and in all honor I mar- 
ried that lady in San Francisco — but she proved a faithless wile and I ob- 
tained a divorce from her under the name she had disgraced, {looking 
sharply at Nixa) Is not this true ? 

Nina, {in agony) I — I was innocent "of all wrong! 

Glyre. {shaking his head) I wish I could have believed you innocent. 
{with rebuke) But the court of your native city, awarding me the divorce 
sharetl with me my in credulity. Is not this true? (Nina stands with 
droophig head) I ask again — is not what I have said true. Madam? 

Nina, {bursting in to tears) It is! 
Glyre. {turnin'j from her) That is all. 

Nina, {dashing tears from her face — unth head erect) That is noi all. This 
man's real name is, Lucian Glyre — Ediih, Lady Ogden, General Stanley — 
he told me all his life. Ob, Edith — oh, Lady Ogden — let me save you both from 
this terrible imposture; even if I lose my good name, as I have already lost 
my child. 

Glyre. {to 'EoiT^ taking ring from watch-chain) Sister, do you recollect 
this? {taking ring) Have you kept the pledge in return for which you 
gave me this ? 
Edith. I have. 

Glyre. By the words of brotherly and sisterly love, that then passed be- 
tween us, I ask you — do you believe what yonder woman says? 

For an instant 'Edith stands irresolute then throws herself in his arms. 

Edith. Oh, Cuthbert, brother how could I ? 

Nina, {appealing) Oh, Edith! Stop, stop ! He is Lucian Glyre! 

Edith, {ivithdratoing from Glyre — to Kisa) How can you persist? 

Lady O. {fixing her eyes on Glyke) One moment Edith ; this is a strange 
accusation, and tjie circumstances seem to demand a fuller explanatioa than 
that already given. 

Glyre. {crossing to her) You are right my dear aunt. But for such ex- 
planation, this is neither the time nor place ; it is not proper that in the 
presence of so many etrangers, Cuthbert Fielding, on his return home should 



FIELDING MANOR. '13 

be thus catechized, (fakinfj out pocket bible, and handing it to Lady Ogden) 
Thi3 should bring me back to your memory. 

Lady 0. (taking it) The bible I gave Culhbert. (then suddenly) Tell me, 
do you recollect the motto I taught you when I gave you this bible? 

Glyrc. (hesitates — after a flight pamc) The motto ! What true Field- 
ing ever forgot it? 

Lady 0. {sha.rply) Repeat it then ! 

Glyrc. (smiling and turnvnj looking at Manor house) That I will. I could 
make no fitter salulation to the home of my fathers. 

(repeats the following vctses. 

His steed in captive stall should pine. 

His blade in sloth should rust, 
If ever knight of Fiolilinsr's lino 

Betrayed a woman's trust." 

But truth were falsehood; honor, shame, 

And right on earth would end 
If he who bears the Fielding name 

Should once betray a friend." 

(Music Tremolo till end of act. 

During the recitation, EniTH sieils her hand into his : everbody seems per- 
fectly satisfied except Nina and Lady Ogdkn, who still keeps her eyes fixed 
on Glyre. 

Nina. (r. c.) Oh, Edith ! Will you not hear me? I- 



Edith. (with flashing eyes c) Ilerxr you! Never again! You have al- 
most made me turn away from my brother. Gol Never enter Fielding 
Manor again 1 

Ladt Or.nEN, Glyre. 

Andrew. Nina. Edith. Cyeii,. 

Eugenia. Margaretta. Generai,. Rebecca. Abercromeik. 

FICTUIi E— C UR TA IN, 



ACTIL 

SCENE I. — Library at Fichlim Manor. Set door r. 3 e. : set fire-place p.. 2 
E. Centre door, (oven) backed by garden flats ; chair u. 3 e., table L. c. , 
v}ith a chair right of it. Chair k. 3 E. ; sofa L. 2 e. Glyre discovered, 
seated at table l. c, reading letter. 

Glyre. (reading) "Lucian Glyre : — You have conquered me for a time, 
"but your infamous imposture shall not go unpunished, be sure of that, 
'*I have no fears of you, and I will leave no plan untried to expose your 
"new villiany. You have robbed me of all I hold dear in life — you 
"have made that life a ruin, almost a mockery ; but I will not tamely 
"see you wrong Edith Fielding, whom I have learned to love tenderly 
"as a friend. To-night at eleven o'clock, I will be at the large west 
"window of the Mnnor Library — taking the path which leads there 
"through the shrubbery. I shall expect you to open the window and 
"admit me. In the interview which shall then take place between us^ 
"I can say more than I now have the time or the wish to write. 

Nina Chauncey." 
So, so! She threatens me— umph. I'll try it — I will see her to-night, 
it may fail, but it may not. I wonder if the dead ever do walk abroad 
on this earth, whether visible or invisible? Ah I What a rage the ghost 



i'^ FIELDING MANOR. ' 

of these defunct Fieldings would fly into if that were the case, and they 
saw me now. {falls into deep thought. 

Enter Edith, r. 3 e. She -softly touches him — he starts. 

Edith, (c.) Did I startle you, Culhbert ? I have been looking for you 
some time ; I did not know where 3'ou had fled. 

Glyre. {recovers himself) I — I thought you were with Aunt Catherine. 

(tenderly taking her hand. 

Edith, {on stool at his feet) Oh, Cuthbert, it makes me so happy to have 
you back with us again. I am prepared to love you so dearly — you don't 
know how I have been yearning to see you home here once more in your 
rightful place, and now I shall abdicate completely in your favor ; your 
word is to be law. You know you are the master of Fielding now, you are 
to reign here, and to reign by love I'm sure. 

Glyre. {kissing her forehead) Yes, to reign by love. 

Edith, {drawing away) Why Outhbert, how cold your lips are ! 

Glyre. Are they ? It is from standing so long on the porch, the evening 
is rather chilly you know, Edith ; perhaps I was imprudent to remain there, 
I am not wholly recovered from that obstinate Australian fever. 

Edith. I cannot stay with you more than a few minutes longer this 
evening ; .'Vunt Catherine, I fear will need my services, {pause, then softly) 
Cuthbert I have a favor to ask of you, it is not a rery great one — you'll 
grant it I know. You have been cold to Cyril — my affiancred husband; he 
teffels your coldness I nm sure of that, though he said nothing to me — that is 
why he went. I saw him a little while after you had gone to your chamber 
— I read him so well alwaj's; I guessed his secret at once, 1 could not help 
but guess it. Cyril is poor but proud — I think bis poverty makes him proud- 
er — his race is equal with our own you know ; a Fielding does not stoop in 
marrying a Garland — you will be kinder to him won't you, when you see 
him again? promise me this; you are above him remember, and should 
snake the first advances — I so want you to be friends to each other, the firm- 
est and best of Iriends. Come now, Cuthbert, give me your promise, and I 
will say good-night. 

Glyre. Certainly, I will promise you anything, I will repair my faults if 
I have really committed any, but you should allow for the natural effect of 
my return with all its attendant excitement. I think Mr. Garland does 
me injustice, however I will try when next we meet to alter his mistaken 
impression. 

Edith. Thanks, {going and returning) I hope I have not offended you, 
Cuthbert? 

Glyre. (quickly) No, no ! far from that. 

Edith. Good-night, (pausing at door) I am sorry you are to have so dull 
an evening. 

Glyre. {laughing) Oh, I shall manage to enjoy myself very well, good- 
night. " {Exit Edith r. 3 e. Glyre looks around. 

Glyre. What quiet grandeur, and all this is to be mine — mine unless — 
unless — {looking towards windoiu c.) Well, let her come ; I will meet her. 
(taking hound volume from pocket, and laying it on table L. c. Scats himself and 
turns over leaves slowly) What trivial things memory made important to 
this man, but these trivialities are each one a certificate of identity to me. 
I am playing for a great stake, and if my nerves remain firm, I will play 
the game out and win it. (takes 2}cn and ivrites) Surely no expert could 
question this writing. Yes, I have mastered his signature perfectly, but for 
the difference in colors of ink and paper 

Enter Andrew r. 3 e. 

Ayidrcw. (k, c.) Have you any further orders for the evening, Mr. Field- 
ing? 



FIELDING MANOR. 15 

Glyre, Andrew, why do you not call me "Master Cuthbert," as you used 
to do in the old days? 

Andrew, {embarrassed) Why, sir, you're a grown gentleman now. 

Qliyre. But the difference between our ages is the same, Andrew. Don't 
you remember Andrew, the day you saved me from a whipfdng for playing 
truant? How you warned me that my father was coming towards the river. 
It was "Master Cuthbert," then. Do you not recollect how it was always, 
"Master Cuthbert" when you taught me to ride, and told me stories of Gen- 
eral Fielding's valorous doings in the Peninsula? Ah! Andrew, we were 
friends then. I want to feel that the only servant in the house who knevt 
me in my boyhood is still a friend to me. 

Andrew. Master Cuthbert ! Yes, Master Cuthbert — I remember. 

Glyre. There, there, Andrew, you may go, I will close the library my- 
self. 

Exit An'drew r. 3 E., muttering "Master Cuthbei-t" very much pleased, 

Glyre. What an easy victory that was ! A few more such remember- 
ances, and he will be willing to swear that I am the only "Master Cuth- 
bert." {goes to rovidow c, opens it. 

Enter Ni.va c. — she is very pale. 

Nina, [looking at him steadily) So you agreed to see me? 

Glyre. {ivitha shrug) Why not? you have already sought to expose me, 
and tailed. But you are not satisfied — you threaten to take other measures. 

Nina. I do, and I shall take them. 

Glyre. (rabnly) I think you will not take them. 

Nina. WJiy not pray ? 

Glyre. (jjointing to chair i,. c.) Be seated if you please, and I will te!" 
you. (NixA scats herself he remains standirig c.) The fate that brings us to 
gether is certainly a strange one — you must admit that. 

Nina. Str;inge, indeed, yes — some people might call it so; I had hope 
that we would never meet on enrth again, Lucian Glyre. God knows that 1 di. 
not want ever to see you again— but now I am not sorry that we have met 
since 1 shall be the means of saving two good and noble women from that 
villainy which has wronged me as it would wrong them. 

Glyre. {smiling) And so you still persist in believing that I am Lucian 
Glyre, and not Cuthbert Fielding? 

Nina, {springing up) Come, this audacity of defiance verges on the ab- 
surd. I am no longer the weak trusting child, whom you once could de- 
ceive as your vile duplicity chose ; the very anguish that you have made me 
suffer, has given me a wisdom your own guile did not count upon that 
guile now overreaches itself. Be careful how you persist in this role, — once 
for all, I know that your name is and always has been Lucian Glyre. Be care- 
ful how you push me to extremes ; I came here to accept no terms from you 
— I came to dictate them. 

Glyre. {calmly) Ah, indeed, and those terms, madam, are 

Nina. That you shall have quitted this house before to-morrow mornino' 
leaving behind you a written statement to Miss Edith Fielding, that you 
are not her brother. 

Glyre. {hoarsely) I simply laugh at your words ; you have threatened 
to expose me — what can you do? 

Nina, {scornfully) Do? I can go back to California, and collect the writ- 
ten evidences of those to whom you have repeatedly told the story of your 
past life. 1 can find your fellow officers in the American war, and procure 
their testimony — more than that, I can visit those who knew"you upon your 
father's southern plantation, and secure alBdavits from them which will 
place your origin beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

Glyre. {after pause) You are right ; time has made you wise — it has al- 



16 FIELDING MANOR. 

BO made you singularly cruel. You forget that however you may despise 
and hate me, I am still the father of your child. 

, Nina. (tcarfiilLu) Yes, the child who was all I had left to comfort me; 
yet whom you tore from my devoted arms. 

Glyre. You love him still ? 

Nina, (choking with tears) Do I love him? Bad as your are, Lucian 
Glyre, how can you ever ask me that question ? 

Glyre. {carelessly) Oh, I merely thought that if you still loved your child 
it might be the means of showing you how imprudent is your present course. 

Nina, {frightened) No, no! you can't mean that — yo'u can't mean 

I Glyre, 'folding his arms) I mean simply this, your son lives — where ? 
I know — you do not. He is mine— given to me by the law — mine to eiiucate 
as I please — mine to mould, influence, control ! You know what power I 
possess over adults — how easily I can bend most people to my will. Now 
fight me with these weapons you have just boasted of — fight tne as you pro- 
pose to do ; eject me as an impostor from Fielding Manor. I have but one 
means of revenge — I will take that means, as surely as that I now speak and 
you listen. It is this; by every resource in my power I will train your son 
to hate you and to curse )'our name. Next I will instil into his heart and 
mind the most sordid and corrupt views of life, I will teach him to steal, to 
lie, to cheat, to recognize one God — himself ; one code of honor — expediency, 
one monitor of conscience — opportunity for wrong — he shall grow up a cal- 
lous, merciless villian — drenched with all the baleful advice I can give 
him — embittered to the core of his being — a finished knave before he is 
twenty, and ready perhaps at thirty for the jailor or the hangman. This I 
swear to you, and you know me well enough, Nina Chauucey, to know that 
I will keep my word. » 

Nina. You, you will do this, unless — I consent to let you remain here as 
— as the master of Fielding Manor? 

Glyre. I will do it. 

Nina. You — you wish me to — to keep silent ? 

Glyre. More than that ; I wish you to go away from here, to go back to 
America, to leave me in peace. You think me cruel as ice — I will show 
you that I can be merciful. 

Nina, {sneering) You merciful ? 

Glyre. Yes, merciful — or something like it. You can return to your 
child ; I will tell you where he is. You can repossess him again, but it 
must be only after giving me your solemn written promise, that you will 
never molest me hereafter and reveal to no one in America where 1 am or 
in what position ; the instant you do this, I will reclaim the child. 

Nina, {after struggle) 1 consent. 

Glyre. {handing paper) Sign this paper, {she does so) and now, {hand- 
ing another) you will find here full directions regarding where you are to 
find your child, besides an order on those who now have him in their pos- 
session, demanding that they shall restore him to your care, {looking nt 
'■lock) Our interview has !ilre;i(ly been loo long; remember, I require you 
to start to-morrow and as quietly as possible — now good- night. 

Nina, {going sloirly to window) Lucian Glyre, 1 came here thinking to 
conquer you, but you have conquered me — so be it — mine is the defeat, 
yours the triumph. But I now warn you — beware how long that triumph 
shall last ; there are some acts of such outrage and injustice, that Heaven 
must not and will not permit to prosper, and though your victory now looks 
sure yet I know the hour of your overthrow, cannot be far distant — I know 
that you have set your foot upon your own rain, and now walk to its fulfil- 
ment, (exiY through c, window. Glyre .stands looking after her, exultingly. 

Enter Cyril, r. 3 e. 

Cyril, (r. c.) Mr. Fielding, your sister informed me, that ycm would see 
me; I have for sometime felt the necessity of speaking to you, regarding 
my own and Edith's engagement. You are the head of the house now, and 



FIELDING MA NOB. 17 

it is of course my duty to ad'Iross you on that subject; if I have hesitated 
in seeking such an interview, it has been only through a fear of awkwardly 
thrusting myself upon your courtesy when other pressing affairs engaged 
you. 

Gb/re. (h. c, howinp coldly) And what have you to say, Mr. Garland? 

Cyril. Only this, Edith and I were p'ayniatos together as boy and girl; 
she used to call nie, "Cuthbert's substitute" in our earlier days — we have 
grown up togetlicr, and somehow or another, stronger love thnn friendship 
has gradually become natural to us. I am only a poor subaltern as you know, 
but my family is as good as Edith's as you must be aware. Lady Ogden, 
has already given her consent to our marriage, but I ieel in honor bound to 
request yours also, as I would certainly do even if no disparity existed be- 
tween my own and your sister's position. [silighf pause. 

Git/re. You will perhips Hijree with me, Mr. Garland, when I tell you 
that to a man of the world like myself, this disparity of whi>:;h you speak, 
is striking — you have nearly nothing, Edith is an heiress of a very large 
property. 

Ci/ril. But she loves me devotedly. 

Gb/re. As for her loving you devotedly my dear Mr. Garland, very 
young men are apt to believe themselves inspirers of eternal passion. . 

Cyril, {aside, biting his I ip-f) Is he sneering at mo ? (aloud) Mr. Field- 
ing, I am no less certain of Edith's love, than I am certain of the disinter- 
ested motives which fill ray own heart. 

Ghjrc. {laughing, iritk a shrug)' Oh, I cast no doubt upon your motives, 
but when an almost penniless man seeks the hand of a great heiress, you 
know how the world is apt to regard such matters. 

Cyril, {starting) Do I understand you aright? Do you mean to imply 
that my ain\ is that of a fortune-hunter ? 

Glyre. {laucihijtg) Oh, the word is your own, Mr. Garland. I should be 
very sorry to say anything so— so uncivil. 

Cyril, {hotly) It would be more than uncivil, air! It would be grossly 
false ! 

Gli/re. {shrugging) I am my sister's sole protector, you cannot blame me 
for wishing to guard her interest. 

Cyril. Mr. Fielding, do you then refuse your consent that I shall marry 
your sister ? 

Glyre. {haughtily) I withold my consent. 

Cyril, {walking to d. e. 3 e. — turns pausing on threshold) Be it as you 
choose, judge my actions by the coldest rules — since such is your wish. The 
severity cuts deep, but it wounds unfairly. If I loved Edith less, I might 
ask her to renounce her own inheritance, and share with me the uncertain 
chances of a poor subaltern's career. Oh, do not look surprised Mr. Field- 
ing, she would not refuse— it is I who shall however, proud and glad as I 
W0UI4 be to work for hei throuj^h the future. Perhaps you may hereafter 
regret your present conduct, unless your are so much "a nian<)f the world'' 
that my delicacy of feeling is lost upon you and my quickness to resent a 
covert insult is coarsely misunderstood — good-night, Mr. Fielding. 

{exit Cyril, r. 3 e. 

Glyre. {throioing himself into chair h. c.) Gone, gone! And he is too 
proud even to return. I love her — and what a love that is, and whither 
might such a passion lead me? to the depths of ruin and disgrace. No, no ! 
I will be sure on that point ; what if it bursts all bonds and — no, no, that is 
merely a morbid lear. I cannot fling these all away for a dream — a fancy. 

Enter Edith, unobserved, r. 3 e. Site touches him — he starts. 

Edith, {choked toith tears) Oh, Cuthbert! what have you been saying to 
Cyril ? He has just bid me farewell — as he says, forever — this must not be. 
It will kill me to lose him, I — I cannot give him up. 

Glyre. {rising, not looking at her) Edith, I am your brother, and much 



18 FIELDING MAN OB. 

older than you ; I have seen the world — I know men. If Mr. Garland is 
worthy of your love, let him show it. 

Elith. How, brother, how ? 

Gli/re. By waiting for j'ou. 

Edith. Waiting ? But he has wjtited — he 

Glyre. Let him wait longer. Let him give you a chance to mingle in 
society. If your iove is as strong as you both profess it, time will do it no 
damage — I am not a believer in early marriages, perhaps you know why? 

Eddh. But Cyril, is so proud ; he says you have insulted him. 

Gli/re. {bifterly) If the truth be an insult, then he is right. I have sim- 
ply shown him the truth, I wished his frequent visits to the Manor postpon- 
ed for the present — that is all. 

Edith. He will never consent to that. Oh I I am sure of it. 

Gb/re. Then he is unworthy of becoming your husband. 

Edith. Oh, no, no! you wrong him — you wrong us both ! 

Glyre. {turning to her) Edith, you must choose between your duty to 
me and your love for him. You said not long ago that I should be your ad- 
viser and counselor in everything. Prove now that you are willing to hold 
me so, and jirove it by trusting me. {taking both her hands and kissing them) 
Leave me now, leave me I beg of you! I will see you again to-morrow on 
this subject, I — I want to think it over. Remember, that I am acting wholly 
for your good or striving to do 30. Perhaps some more lenient course may 
suggest itself. 

Edith, {eagerly) You will see, Cyril? You will explain to him by let- 
ter ? [going B. 3 e. 

Glyre. Perhaps. 

Edith, {standing in doorway) Oh, if you only will 

Glyre. {turning away) Good-night. 

Edith, (brokenly) Good-night. {exit slowly R. 3 E. 

During last dialogue, distant thtmder has been heard with flashes of lightning, 

Glyre. {pacing stage) I did not send him away, the fellow went of hig 
own aceortl. Let him remain ; if he chooses to make his own pride an im- 
pediment to his marriage with Edith, all the better. Since Edith is forever 
lost to me in a dearer wifely waj', which my great love makes me desire — 
at least it will be sweet to have her near me in future years. 

During .speech he has gone 'r., in front of fire-place facing windoio c. — a bright 
flash of lightning reveals the face of Cuthbeut Fielding, looking in c. Chord. 

Glyre. {terribly frightened) Great heaven! The face of Cuthhert Field- 
ing, {rushes to window and looks out then comes down l. c., and falls i>ito chair) 
What did I see, a ghost? Pshaw — the very idea is absurd, preposterous. 
Beyond doubt the face was that of a passing servant; the lightning, and my 
own tr9.ubled fancy done the rest. No, no, there is no such thing as ghosts. 
Dead men never rise up — I will go to bed. 

Goes to put out light, when he sees Ladt Ogde\ slotvly entering l. 1 e. He hur- 
ries to her and helps her to a chair e. c. 

Glyre. Why, aunt, I am glad to see that you can leave your apartment. 
1 have heard that you were very ill and feeble. 

Lady 0. {aside) How glibly the word "aunt" drops from his lips. He 
lioes not dream that I still suspect him, that I have come here to put de- 
ceit against deceit, and make him expose himself as the impostor that I 
so firmly believe him to be. {aloud) Yes, Cuthhert, I am very feeble, I am 
only able to totter about a little as you see. {looking vj^ into his face) I — I 
(iid' not wish, Cuthhert, that another night should pass uncleared of aU 
doubt between us, and eo I have brought you a peace offerin?. 



FIELDING MANOR. lo 

GhjTc. (i.. c.) A peace oflering, aunt? v,'hy, that was indeed needless 
between you and me. 

Ltuhj 0. {.thakinff her head) No, no, I did not think it so— here it is, 
[takes from her pocket ttoo pictures and hands one to him. A Jla.sk of lightning 
and thunder) a likeness ot your dead mother. 

Glyre. {taking it to lamp) A picture of my poor dead mother? {thunder 
and lighinivg) This must have been taken a shoi-t time previous to my 
mother's death. The face in it's emaciation shows deonv. 

Lady 0. {-standing up triiimphantli/, then says) Do you think it look like 
your mother? "' {pau-se. 

Glyre. [looks intently at picture) Wonderfully liice ! There is the same 
old familiar expression. [rioid inhtnivg a/id thunder. Music p]/. 

Lady 0. {getting to c, dropping other picture &. c.) .And so the mask falls 
from your face. Who are you, sir? 

Glyre. {frightened) What do vou mean ? 

Lady 0. {with chilh/ lauglt) What do I mean ? I mein that the picture I 
showed you is not that of the woman whose son you piofess to be, b\it that 
of John FieldinG^'s sister, Helen Fielding. {thunder and lif/titiiing. 

Glyre. [starts) A trap ! 

La'dy 0. Yes, a trap, into which you have fallen. I.doubted 3'ou, sir ' 
the moment I clearly saw your lace. I doubted you when your cold kiss 
first touched my forehead, and instinctively shrank from it. 'l doubted j'ou 
when the woman who had been your wife denounced you— I doubt you no 
longer. Yonder on the floor lies the picture of her whom you would call 
mother; now, sir, who are you, and why have you dared to eater this house? 
Will you not speak? 

Lady OaoEN takes a step towards him. Glyre has at fir.st beeii very much 
friglitcned, hut by this time has fully recovered himself, and stands with 
folded arms c, with look of melancholy on his face. 

Glyre. [calmly) I was prepared for something of the sort, fully prepar- 
ed. 

Ladv 0. [taken hack) Whnt do you mean ? 

Glyre. I mean that from the first moment I met you, I read in vour face 
the ungenerous doubt you now avow. I came back yenrning to find a home 
and a welcome to it, wearied to the heart with struggles, perplexities, and 
defects of past years, I met you at the very threshold of that home only to 
read insulting distrust in the face of her who should have best remembered 
me. 

Lady 0. You are a great actor, I see that — but you are nothing more. 
Were you really Cuthbert Fielding, you would have known that that pic- 
ture does not reflect a feature of his mother's face. 

Glyre. I do know it does not, I feel that you showed it to me because it 
was not hers. Pshaw 1 the trick would not have deceived a child. 

Lady 0. Then why did you encourage the trick ? 

Glyre. [rcbukingly) To learn the sad truth — to learn that my own flesh 
and blood doubted and repudiated me, was laying traps for my'detection in 
a fraud. Why, you ask did I encourage it? To tear aside the veil, to stan<l 
clearly facing my father's sister, in her noble work of detective deceit, and 
now I fairly confront the naked fact ; vou do not believe me to be Cuthbert 
Fielding. Then in heaven's name tell me who I am ? An impostor come 
here to steal Fielding's birthright? (Lady Ogdex staggers back and Jall< 
feebly into chair r. c.) And this — this is the happy greeting I longed, pray- 
ed, hungered for, as I lay on my fevered bed in Australia. This is the ful- 
tilment of what was prophesied in your own letter answering mine, and 
saying "come home, Cuthbert, come home to loving hearts." Yes I this was 
the love I was to find awaiting me. (falls into chair l. c, cot^ering his face) 

Lady 0. [rises and totters to him) Forgi%'e me, Cuthbert, I was wrong — 
you have dissipated my last doubt. I— I ask your pardon, indeed, 1 do. 



fiO FIELDING MANOR. 

Gh/re. {xpringfng up and tenderly emhracing her) Aunt Catherine, how 
can 1 help forgiving you? 

Lad>/ 0. {xpcal-iiig in tears) I am but a foolish old woman, I — I am full of 
fnucifes and apprebeiisions ; the effort to see you had weakened me so. Let 
it be all forgotten between us, Cuthbert, I — I have no doubt left now, not 
one. 

Gh/re. (aside) Thank heaven for that, (he picks vp the other picture and 
iakcK it to the light) Ah! here is my poor motber^here is the expression of 
quiet appeal, that so often stood between me and my father's hard anger. 

Lady Ogden has stood where she can .see picture over his shouldei — she niters 
triumphant cry. Music — chord and tremolo. 

Lady 0. (recoiling c.) Heaven succeeds, waere I have failed. 

Gli/re. (terrified) What are you saying? 

Lady 0. What I said before, you are not, Cuthbert Fielding, but a mis- 
erable impostor, and as snoh I denounce you. 

Glyre. (folding his arms) You must be insane! 

Lady 0. That will not do. Nervous, anxious and with dim sight I select- 
ed those pictures, I did think one of thera was Mrs. Fielding ; I now see it 
is that of a distimt relntive — it bears not the slightest resemblance to the 
mother of Cuthbert Fielding, my mistake not my wisdom detects you. Do 
you dare still to assert that you are Cuthbert Fielding? 

Gh/re. (doggedly after pause) You are right, I am not Cuthbert Fielding. 

Lady 0. At last! (tltimder and lightning) Now tell me, tell me, for you 
must know — where is Cuthbert Fielding? 

Gil/re. Fielding is dead. 

Lady 0. Dead ? Ido not believe you, and yet — oh, heavens ! you may be 
his murderer. Yon may have murdered him for the purpose of this im- 
posture. 

Glyre. (threatening, starting towards her) Silence ! 

Lady 0. (drawing her.'selfii.p) You knave! how dare you use that tone to 
me ; every nerve in my old body grieves with indignant desire to deno«nc*5 
and expose you. » 

Glyre. (beticeen his teeth) Do it! do it and I v/ill say that you are mad — 
yes, and prove it too. Eemember, if 1 have said I am not Cuthbert Field- 
ing, I have said it to you alone and not before witnesses ; I still stand a 
strong chance of being believed — I will take that chance. The proofs that 
I possess will convince any court in England, they -have already satisfied 
and convinced Edith. Oh, my lady I am no common villian, so beware — 
beware what you do? 

Lady 0. Uaughing bitterly) I will put your proofs to the test, sir, and 
that now. (thunder and lightning as she goes to door n. 3 h.) Help! Help! 

(Music tremolo till end of act. 

Glyre. (follmoing, grasping her wrist) Silence ! be silent I say, or you may 
repent it ! 

Lady 0. (turning to him) How dare you touch me? (Picture. 

Glyre. (dropping her hand) You had better hear me ! 

Lady 0. . (going to door) Help! Ancirew. Martin, help, help ! 

(Exit Lady Ogden r. 3 e. fistoi shot followed by a loud clap of thunder, 

Glyre. (starting) The house has been struck. 

Enter Edith very pale and frightened k. 3 E. 

Edith, (wildly) Oh, Cuthbert! The house has been struck! 

Glyre. (embracing her) Thank heaven ! you are safe! 

Edith. Oh, I am not hurt, hut Aunt Catherine 

Glyre. (eagerly) What of Aunt Catherine ? 

Edith. She is at the foot of the stairs, I — I think she has fainted. 

Glyre. Let us go to her. 



FIELDING MANOR. ^1 

Starts to go as Lady Ogden supported bi/ Andrew and scrvaniSf enters a7id sinks 
into arm chair r. c. 

Gb/rc. (l. c, to Andrew) Do you think she is dead ? 

Andrew, {shuddering) Oh, no, sir, not that — it can't be that. 

Gtyre. If the lip;htning struck her it must be. 

Andrew, (c.) The lightning did not strike her, it struck the staircase, 
much higher up than where my lady stood. The banister is all splintered. 

Glyre, (biting his lip) You think it is only the shock then ? 

Edith. Yes, yes, it was only the shock — how strange that she should 
have been down stairs; I suppose she was alarmed on account of the storm. 
But why did she not come to my chamber? Oh, I was careless and cruel tc 
have left her alone, poor Aunt Catherine, ill as she was. (Lady Oguen open, 
her eyes) See her eyes are open! [delighted) She is better now! Aunt! 
Aunt! Speak to me. 

Glyee stands coivcring l. h. — Lady Ogden struggles to speak, but fails and- 
with servant's aid totters to table l. c, 'points to Gi,YREantZ takes up pen 
and dips it into ink, tries to write, faila and falls back dead l. c. Gi^yke 
seems relieved — Edith bends over her. 

Edith. Oh, aunt! She wanted to tell us something, to tell you sffmething 
Cuthbert. But see, she has fainted again. 
Andrew, {troubling) Xot fainted this time — 
Edith, {wildhj) What do you mean, Andrew? 
Andrew, {solemnhj) Miss Edith, Lady Ogden is dead! 
Edith. Dead! {turns to G-lyjs.^) Cuthbert do you hear ? {bewildered) 
Ghjre, Yes, I hear ! {aside) And it is fate! {Picture — music change to ff. 

Servant. Andrew. Lady Ogden. 

iKRVANT. Edith. Glyre. 

END OF ACT I L 



ACT III. 

Drawing-room at Fielding Manor. Door c. ; set door r. 3 E. ; chair r. 2 e. ; 
two chairs r. c, and L, c. ; table l. .3 e. ; chair l. 2 e. Edith and Rebecca 
discovered seated. 

Rebecca, . (l. c.) Well, Edith dear, we all have our troubles, if it aint one 
thing it's another. {vrith a sigh. 

Edith, {smiling and taking her hand) Why, Rebecca, what has happened 
to depress your spirits? Have you quarreled again with poor Abercrombie 
Courtwell? who adores you and whom I am afraid you don't always treat 
with too much mercy. 

Rebecca, {impatiently) Oh, bother Abercrombie, I treat him altogether 
better than he deserves, {mournfully) No Edith, I allude to pa. 

Edith, {controlwg her laughter) Why, what has the poor General been 
doing? 

Rebecca, {wailing) Doing? The worst thing he could possibly do. {trag- 
ically) Edith, he has been falling in love! Yes, isn't it horrible ? He is at 
the house of those two Maitland's, morning, noon, and night. Abercrom- 
bie cannot keep him at home — I cannot keep him at home. He openly 
threatens me, Edith, with that horrible curse, a stevmother I 



n FIELDING MANOR. 

!E7itcr ABEKCRdiiBiE loarinand excited — Rebecca sees him rushcs'io him and siezes 

his arm. 

Sebccca. Abererorabie! you promised me that you would remain at 
home and restrain pa. Why, have you not done so? 

Abcr. {ruefully) Restrain him! 'Why, it would take a ball and chain 
to do that, {heroically) Rebecca can we bridle a hurricane? can we control 
a cataract ?_ {strikes position. 

Rebecca..' {loildly to Edith) Just hear! Pa has fled to the Maitlands. 
{in tears) Oh, Edith isn't it horrible ? 

iJKXF.RAL enter r. 3 e., with Misses Eugenia and Margaretta Maitland, arm, 

in arm. 

JEtiqcnia. {coming to Edith) How is your poor brother's health, Edith 
dear? 

Margaretta. {coming to Edith) Yes, Edith dear. 

Rebecca, {to Eugenia spitefully) I want to thank you for being so kind to 
pa, taking him about with you, you know like this — but then you always 
were such benevolent old ladies.^' 

Eugenia, {straightening up) Old ladies! 

Margaretta. {same) Old ladies ! 

Margaretta and Eugenia talk to General, vp c. r. Rerecca and Abercrom- 
BiK, L. H. Enter Andrew r. 1 e., speaks to Edith and then exits r. 1 e. 

Edith, (r. h.) I must beg you all to excuse me for a few moments, my 
brother has sent for me. He is better and when I tell him you are here he 
will possibly come down and see you ; meanwhile I am sure that you can 
all spend together a few hours of mutual entertainment, {e.rit Edith r. 1 e. 

Rebecca, (l. c, aside) Yes, mutual entertainment is precisely what I 
intend that we shall have, {aloud to 'Evge^hx with pensive smile) My dear 
Miss Eugenia, in spite of your own and your sister's goodness to pa, I feel — 
yes really I feel called upon to tvarnyox both. 

Eugenia, (c, amazed) To warn us Rebecca? 

Rebecca. Hush! don't speak so loudly— for sometime past Abercrombie 
and I have noticed marked symptoms of insanity in pa ; they first came on 
about a year ago, since then he has been gradually growing worse, we are 
now — I say it with the deepest sorrow, we are seriously thinking of placing 
poor pa within an insane asylum. 

Eugenia. {astonif<hed) The General crazy ! I — I can't believe it. 

Aber. {who has been listening joins Rebecca) But I assure you it is true. 
At any moment my dear Miss Eugenia, when you are least prepared for 
such a mark of attention, the General may become outrageously violent. 
Rebecca, do you recollect how only last week, your father fired a heavy 
fish knife at my unprotected head ? 

Rebecca. Yes, luckily it only grazed yonr temple Aber dear, but it might 
have killed you. 

Eugenia, (frightened) Oh, this is horrible, I — I must tell Margaretta, I — 

The General has been talking up r. c, with Margaretta — he has heard the 
most of the dialogue, and now com£S down c, 7nuch excited. 

General, (c.) Please do nothing of the sort, {in a rage he makes a blow 
at Abercrombie tcith cane) You, you miserable little back-biter. Miss 
Eugenia, ladies, both of you — it's — it's the basest falsehood ! I'm no more 
crazy than you are yourself. Now I am going to assert my rights. 

Eugenia. Da so General ; we'll support your resolve. Stand up for your- 
self — be a man ! 



^L. Edith. Margaretta. General. Ecgenia. Rebecca. Abercrombie. r. 



FIELDING MANOR. !;■', 

Margaretia. Yes— be a man. 

Rebecca, {pointing to Gexkkal) Don't you see how dangerous he looks 
and acts ; I advise you to go at once for your own personal safety. 

Aber. Yes, ladies, if you don't go you may live to repent it — no — no, 1 
mean you may not live to repent it; you must see that the General is in a 
demented stale now. 

Eugenia. We see nothing of the sort. 

Margaretta. Yes — nothing of the sort. 

General, {exuliingli/ loaning hi.i cane) Ah, ha ! they see nothing of the 
sort, (shaking hands with them) They only see a poor old man, abominably 
traduced, {turn.i to Rebecca and Abekcromiue) they see merely the artful 
wiles of a daring young minx and her servile confederate.. 

Rebecca, {to Eugenia ajid Mauoarktta) You're two horrid old maids. 
You'd better go home and make your wills. Haven't you had your chances 
twenty years ago, and lost them? why can't you leave pa alone? 

General, {blustering c.) TU go home and make my will, you impudent 
shameless baggage. I'll cut you off' with a shilling — yes, and I'll take these 
two dear faithful friends for ray witnesses, {giving each of them an arm) 
Come along you poor injured lambs, come you poor wounded doves, come 
with me. (going r. 3 e. 

Rcbcccn. Pa ! for heavens sake, reflect before it is too late ; you are in the 
hands of two artful sirens. 

Eugenia, (aghast) Sirens! Margaretta! That we the best blood of the 
country should receive that insult. 

Margaretta. Yes — that insult. 

General. Never mind, my dear friends, let us go, and before we leave 
this outrageous little vixen, let us show her that she has only served to ce- 
ment the friendship stronger than ever. 

Kisses each of them extravagantly and evit v.. ?, F.. Rebecca and Aberckomeik 
stand thunder-struck. 

Rebecca, (e.g.) Gone! Gone! (turns to ^\iV,-R0KO-iiy.\v. tragically) Kever 
dare to address a word of love to me again unless you promise me one thing. 

Aber. {stammering) What do you mean, Rebecca ? 

Rebecca. Find pa, and bring hiiu back to me — and bring him back un- 
married ! ' 

Aber. (l. c.) But, Rebecca 

Rebecca, {snapishly) Not a word, that is my sole alternative; if you won't 
grant my request, s;ood-bye forever. (ent r. 3 e., tragically. 

Aber. (r. c, witk comic resolution) I'll do it, it shall be my sacred duty 
to bring the General back. By a grasp of iron upon his devoted collar. By 
a hand of bronze upon his aged ear. By a grip of steel upon his inviolate 
coat-tails, willing or unwilling — resisting or unresisting — dead or alive — I'll 
bring the General back! {strides off Vi. 3 e. 

Enter Edith r. 1 e. Enter Andrew r. 3 e. — Edith goes to tabic h, c. 

Edith, {turning and, seeing Andrew) ' SWell, Andrew, what is it? 

Andrew, (r. c, knoxuingly) Somebody's here to see you Miss Edith- 
somebody you haven't seen for quite awhile. 

Edith, {excited) Oh, Andrew — do you mean 

Andrew. Yes, Miss Edith, I me-m Mr. Cyril Garland. He is waiting now 
in the library, shall I tell him you are here? 

Edith. Oh, no Andrew, I'll go to him. 

Going toward rfoor r. 3 e., mecis Cyrii, as he enters. Andrew exits r. 1 e. 
chuckling to himself — Cyril embraces Edith. 

Ci/ril. (r. c.) Edith, I see you once again. 

Edith, {reproachfulli/) And so you have come at last. Oh, if you knew 
how I had sutfered from your absence ! 



S4 FIELDING MANOR. 

' Cyril. I will not add to that suffering by telling you of my own — every 
hour of the day — of the night have been consecrated by thoughts of you. I 
'imagined the poignancy of 3'our sorrow at the sudden death of your aunt, 
and hungered to utter in your ear some word of comfort, but what could I 
do? 

Edith. Do Cyril ? Whj', you could have come to nie. 
Cyril. After the note you sent mo in reply to tny letter, after the willing- 
,"nes3 you than showed to renounce ray love, to cancel the vows with which 
\ you had pledged your own, and at the command of a cold worldly arbitrator ? 
, Edith. You are unjust to my brother. He has been ill since poor Aunt 
Catherine's death. He is my brother ; it is my duty to obej' him. 

Cyril, (bitterly) Perhaps you are right, but now ihat you have had time 
to know that brother better, what do you think of him ? 

Edith, {warmly) He is all that a brother could be. He is all kindness 
.ind affection ; during his illness he said that the mere touch of my hand 
npon his brow, was mare cooling to it's fevered heat than all the medicines 
in England. 

Cyril. And did you speak to him of me ? 

Edith, {hesitating) He will doubtless see you to-day. He is almost 
"wholly recovered now— and Cyril, {tearfully) for my sake curb your pride 
and impetuosity, when j'on and my brother meet — reflect that our mutual 
happiness may depend upon it. There I will go now and tell Cuthbert you 
are here. [r/oinfj r. I e. 

Cyril. Stay, Edith I (Edith comes back to Cyril l. c. 

Enter Cuthbert Fielding b. 3 e. Edith turns and .^ees him. Picture — chord. 
He stands motionless an instant then goes to Edith with open arms. 

Cuth. Edith ! 7ny .nster .' Do you not know me? 

JEdith. {recoiling to Gyrx!,) Cyril, what does this mean? Who is this ? 

Cyril, (l. c.) Edith, this man calls himself your brother. 

(Edith utters a cry of disgust and regards him with haughty stare. 
Cuth. (nppcalingly) Look at me ! Can I be so utterly changed, that you 
do not see in my lace your brother's features ? 

Enter A^'DREW R. 1 e., stands r. n., listens. 

Cyril. Edith, this man canie to me and sfeated himself to be Cuthbert 
Fielding. He charges that he who now stands recognized by you and by 
the law as Cuthbert Fielding, is an impostor whose real name is Lucian 
Glyre. 

Edith. Impossible! 

Cyril. Yet hear him, is it not as possible that the impostor came first as 
that he came second ? (to Cithiikst) State your own case. 

Cuth. Edith, only hear me, this man was my comrade during two years 
of my wild wanderings abroad. I told him the story of ray life in its full- 
est details ; he left me in the desert of Australia, as he thought dead. I had 
intrusted with him my journal — my letters — all, and he promised to come 
here and acquaint you and our aunt with my sad death. Wlien I arrived 
here 1 found him in posses<<ion of my name — my inheritance — accepted 
master of Fielding Manor. This is the truth so help me heaven. 

Edith, (after slight pause) I do not believe it, no, I cannot believe it. 
'• (turns to Cyril l. c.; Oh, Cyril, Cyril ! how could you do this! 

Cyril. Your thoughts wrong me, P^dith, it is not from animosity to the 
one that I would have you listen to the other. 

Edith, (half aside) No, no 1 such audacity is beyond belief. 

Cyril. Surely, it is not harder to believe in one man than in another? 

Cuth. Only bring me face to face with Lucian Glyre. (passionately look- 
ing around) Ah ! it seems to me that those very walls should know me, 
that these portraits should bear witness to the blood in my veins. Edith, 
surely there is — there must be some one yet living in this household who — 
{pause, sees Andrew r. h., eagerly) Are you not Andrew T 



FIELDING MANOR. 25 

Andrew. {slov:ly) Yes, you are right, I'm Andrew. 

Cuth. Look at rrje well. Don't you know me? 

Andrew, [after looking at him) I — I don't know the face, but your voice 
Bounds familiar to my old ears. 

Cuth. {cac/erli/ to 'EniTu) You see ! You see ! {to Asvrf.w) Oh, old man 
try and recollect — in heaven's name^ try 

Andrew, {sloiohj shaking Ms head) No — no — I can't. 

Edith, {trmm'phantly to Cyril) You hear ? 

Cuth. Wait, wait ! {grasping Andrew's arm) Don't you recollect the 
"Master Cuthbert" who used to steal out from his lessons to go coasting and 
fishing, while you kept watch to save him from detection ? 

Andrcio. (starts puts, his hand to his head) Yes, yes, I remember, Master 
Cuthbert — oh, yes. (pause) But he's up stairs. f 

Cuth. {who has been sure of being reeognized a moment before noro is almost 
disheartened) Oh, do you net recollect the day father found us out and I 
hid away in the willows, and was caught suspended on a bough ? How 
father laughed, and how I escaped punishment? 

Ajidrei'j. (quickli/) Yes, yes. (then pausing) But the other "Master Cuth- 
bert" remembers that too. 

Cutk. (with a groan.) Ah ! this is terrible, (turns to YAmn) That anec- 
dote was in ray journal, that is whore Luoian Glyre learned it. (nppealina 
to Edith) Oh, can you not remember mo ? (Eurni hides her face in. her hands) 

Edith, Oh, I am too puzzled, too bewildered even to think. 

Cyril. Edith, remember that Nina Chauncy also called this man Lucian 
Glyre. 

Edith.- (quiekly) But he admitted that he hail assumed that name. 
(drawing up proudly) No, no ! 1 was right at first, such audacity is im- 
possible. 

Cuth. It is real ! Remember, remember Edith that these verj' lands of 
Fielding Manor were once drenched by the blood of thousands who accept- 
ed a living pretender for the dead heir of England himself. 

Cyril. Nor has our nation yet ceased to Tins; by an excitement caused by 
an imposture sinuilar to this, and fo clever that the best jurists in England 
were puzzled and divided and half the realm yet half believe the impos- 
tor to bo the true man. 

Cuth. Oh, Edith — oh, my sister is their no mysterious language by which 
Boul may speak to soul? Edith, 1 am your brother ; I cry out to you now 
from the depths of my sufl'ering and despair. You cannot refuse to hear 
me — you will not ! Yes, I swear to you that I am Cuthbert, your brother 
Cuthbert, by the memory of our dead mother who loved us both, and whose 
spirit now listens to my appeal. (Edith seems as if about to acknowledge him 
then turns aiuay) If your heart cannot — will not speak — then let the intel- 
ligence that your face betraj's, give me at least the bcnclit of the doubt un- 
til I have seen this man face to face. 

Cyril. Surely Edith, this is but justice. 

Edith. But granting, Cyril, that either of these- men are capable of such 
imposture — no man is capable of feigning the brotherly love that Cuthbert 
— yes, that Cuthbert has shown me. 

Cyril, (starting tvith surprise) How ? 

Edith. How? In the electric touch of his hand when it meets my own 
in the love that lights histeyes^when they rest on mine. 

Cyril. Are you sure Edith,|that^thi3 love springs from a brother's heart? 

Edith, (starting) I — I do not understand you ? 

Cyril, (with significance) And I dare not be more explicit. 

Cuth. (exchanging looks with Cyril) Then let mo speak. What the lover 
cannot say, the brother may. 

Edith. Stop, sir! Mr. Garland's meaning does steal upon me. You 
shall have justice ; if the love that this man feels for me, springs not from a 
brother's heart, then I will make_that heart throb till it shakes the mask 
from his face — are you satisfied ? 

■j"L. Andrew. Cuthbert, Edith. Cyril. s. 



26 FIELDINQ MANOR. 

Cyril. More than satisfied. 

Cuth. Thanks Edith, and now there remains but for me to play my part. 

Edith. You mean 

Cuth. I mean — will you let me see'this man? 

Edith. So be it. Andrew? 

Andrew. Yes, Miss Edith. 

Edith. Andrew, tell my brother — tell Squire Fielding, that he is Waited 
for here ; say that I wish to see, him on a special matter, you understand 
me Andrew ? 

Andrew. Yes, Miss Edith. {exit Andrewe. 1 e. 

Edith. Come, Cyril. (.sAe looks at CuTHBERT'<Aen averts her eyes, Cteil 
^goex with her to door e. 3 e. 

Cuth. {following) God bless you, Cyril Garland. {offers hand. 

Cyril, {at door) Not yet, wait, I believe you, but wait till your truth is 
proven. {exit with Edith k. 3 e, 

CuTHiTERT retires up stage L. h., a-? Glyre enters R. 1 e. 

Glyre. {looking around.) I thought'Edith was here: I cannot bear to have 
her away from my side a moment, (seats hiviself at table l. c.) When I do 
not hear her voice the very silence seems to threaten me. This passion of 
mine grows worse and worse — still I have it well under control now, there 
can be no doubt on that point. Edith must have gone to some other apart- 
ment, there is no one here. 

Cuth. {coming down k. c.) You are mistaken, Lucian Glyre, I am here. 

{Pict ure^chord. 
Glyre. {starting up) You 1 who are you? 
Ctith. Look and see ! 

Glyre. {gaspmg) Great heaven 1 I must be mad — it — it is some illusion 
of course, yes, ye:s, of course ! 

Cuth. {quietly) It is Cutbbert Fielding. 

Glyre. (staggering) I — left — you — for — dead. tVhat — 'what does thia 
mean ? You were saved ? 

Cuth. (compoicdly) I was saved. (Glyke has by this time partly recover- 
ed himself gives phairto Cutubekt who in'J,urn points to fhair) After you. I am 
at home here.' 

Glyre. (seating himself) As you will. 

Cuth. (r. c, 7-eproachfully) Oh, Glyre, Glyre I How could you do this 
thing? 

Glyre. Do not ask me yet. give me time. How were you saved ? 
Cuth. The collapse into which I had fallen was of the sort which some- 
times manifests itself in violent cases of bush-plague. I knew nothing for 
days afterwards, then I awoke and I found that I had owed my life to tha' 
very scoundrels who had wished to murder me for my gold ; my death could 
bring them no profit, and so like the queer mixture of villiany and humani- 
ty that so many of them are, they had actually nursed and saved me. Of 
course being penniless I had but one way of getting back to England. I] 
had been a sailor before, and after almoststarving in Melbourne, I obtained' 
a sailor's position on a vessel bound for England. I arrived in this very vil- 
lage by a strange fatality only a few hours after your own arrival ; what 
I heard simply stunned me at first — I saw the whole hideous deception in 
its true shameless colors. I walked to the Manor afterwards, and was re- 
fused admittance by the servants j since then I have waited for a chance to 
meet you face to face. 

Glye. And are you here wholly without means? 

Cuth. Not wholly so. Mr. Garland my bister's affianced husband, has 
kindly provided me with some little money. 

Glyre. (aside) Curse him! (looking steadily at Cvtubkri) "Well, Stan- 
ley, what can I do for you? 

Cuth. First explain your presence here. 



FIELDING- MANOR. 27 

Glyrei {rises and goes to each door and returns) When I left you as I firm- 
ly believed dead, I left you with a firm determination to exeeute your last 
wishes; before I reached Melbourne, I was stricken down with the bush- 
plague, caught probably from yourself. 

Cuth. Go on. You recovered I suppose from your illness and then car- 
ried out your plan of betrayal ? 

Glyre. No, for during the iutermediato delirium of that fever, I saw but 
one vision. During its fitful sleep I dreamed but one dream — I was no 
longer Lucian Glyre, the adventurer, without a home, oven without a country. 
I was Cuthbert Fielding of Fielding Manor ; all that you had told nie of 
you and yours buried itself into my brain as part of my own experience, nor 
did this end with my illness. When reason returned with returning health, 
I fought vainly against the temptation those repeated dreams still suggest- 
ed, ^ly ambition whispered to me, that if I yielded, I could do you no 
wrong for you were dead. The more I struggled against the idea, the 
stronger it became — I was dazzled by the splendor of the (leoeit oven while 
arguing against it; I was moved by the very audacity requircil to accom- 
plish it and — and so — well I yielded as you have seen. ('^'■'y/ both rise. 
Cuth. And what do you intend to do now? 
Glyre. (l. o.) What do youproj)03e? 

Cuth. {u. c, indignantly) Propose! You presume to ask mo what I pro- 
pose? Why, that you (ell the truth that for the deception you have prac- 
ticed upon me and mine you be punished by the law for this slupendous 
felony. 

Glyre. {huskily) The law ! 

Cuth. Yes, the law! which Lucian Glyre — by statutes passed in this very 
reign— 

Glyre. Stop, stop 1 Consider our friendship. 

Cuth. {scornfully) Friendship! do not prot'anc the word, let there be no 
sham sentiment ol' this sort if you please. That friendship whose memory 
you invoked only serves to deepen the crime commited against one whom 
you thought powerless in tlie grave. 

Glyre. {baffled) Then do yo]|meau to tell me that you will listen to no 

compromise ? accept no 

Cuth. Compromise? The very word is an insult. 

Glyre. {folding his arms and bdwcea his teeth) I think you overlook one 
im portant matter. 

Cuth. What do I overlook? 
Glyre. Where are your proofs ? 
Cuth, What proofs? 

Glyre. {ivith a shrug) Pshaw ! you are trifling with]me, the proofs that 
you are Cuthbert Fielding, of course. 

Cuth. {contcmptuosly) And you dare to ask mc this question ? Trickster 
that you are, have you not stolen my proofs? 

Glyre. {calmly) Then you admit that you have no means of establish- 
ing your identity? 
Cuth. You are my only means. Will you dare deny your imposture? 
Glyre. I most cerainly shall. 
Cuth. In the face of my living self ? 
Glyre. In the face of your living self. 

Cuth. Ah! this is monstrous, but I might have expected it — the man 
•whose brain would have conceived such a villiany as the present one, must 
have a heart flinty enough to give him no after remorse. (Cuthbert starts 
towards Glyre as if to strike him then Ic's his arm fall) Thus far Glyre, I 
have been wonderfully tolerant with you ; I have waited until your re- 
covery before seeking you. Perhaps during our present interview a certain 
pity for the weakness you have confessed, has even svvayed me more than 
it should have done, though all the while I felt certain that you were a 
man with a callous conscience, a crafty soul. Hundreds of recollections have 
returned tome of late ; I see now by what subtle means you deceived me 



S3 FIELDING MANOR. 

as to your true charactor whiie we were comrades abroad. But enough of 
this — I now have little more to say, it is simply that j'ou must at once re- 
store to me my name and in\' inheritance or receive perhaps a worse pun- 
ishment than that which will already fall upon you. 

Glyre. {hoarsdjj) Threats are dangerous — most^dangerous when applied 
to me. 

Cuth. (going to heU2}uU&. h.) We shall see. 

Glyre. Stop ! 

CiUh. (turning) Stop? 

Glyre. (c.) Yes, for I tell you that the sound you shall evoke will be 
your own death knell as Cuthbert Fielding and that forever. 

Cuth, {ringing bell) We shall see I 

Enter Andrew, k. 3 e. 

Glyre. {speakinjj before Ci'thbebt gctx a chance) The bailiff came to-day 
with the monthly returns. He is waiting for me; send him to me instant- 
ly, and then aummon all the household likewise. 

Andrew. Yes, sir. (exit r. 3 e. 

Glyre. {calmly to Cuthdert l. c.) I am sorry to do this, but self-preser- 
vation is every mun'a niasler. 

CiUh. {aghast) What would you do ? 

Glyre. Decide at ouee and forever who is Cuthbert Fielding* 

Enter EniTi! ayid Ctril, e. 3 e. 

Glyre. {speaks to Cvnii, snccringly) Mr. Garland, I am then indebted to 
jou for the visit of this insolent impostor — may I ask whether you believe 
his story ? , 
' Cyril, {-^nnly) I do believe it. 

Glyre. You then look upon me, aa a false claimant? 

Cyril. I do! 

Glyre. Candor is at least a virtue, but you will be good enough, sir, to 
recollect one thing — however you may doubt my right to call myself Cuth- 
bert Fielding, that right at present exists, and the first way that I shall now 
endeavor to enforce it is by ordering you to leave viy house. 

Cyril, {n. c, tvUh dignify) I cannot refuse to go, sir. You are certainly 
in posession here, there can be no doubt of that, (turns to Edith and extends 
his handa, as she is about to lake them Glyee speaks) 

Glyre. (l. c.) Edith as your brother, I forbid you to take the handa of 
that man. 

Pavse — music tremolo till curtain. Edith hesitates then slowly obeys Glyee, 

Cyril. I understand, I do not blame you, Edith ; my feelings that this 
man is not your brother is an instinct nothing more. I cannot account for 
it, if you do not believe him an impostor, you are right in obeying him. 

Glyre. Go, sir ! Go at once, or my lackeys shrill force you to retire. 

Cyril, (proudly) There is not a servant in tlie Manor, whom you could 
hire to touch me. I have ])layed here as a child and have been welcomed 
here ever since by every true Fielding. Ah! what is this? 

Enter Bailiff a7id Servants b. 3 e. Glyee writes warrant, 

Glyre. {l. c, poi7iti7ig to Cvtbbkrt:) Arrest that man I 
Bailiff, (c.) Yes, sir. The warrant? 



FIELDING MANOR. ^0 

Glyre. {handing it) It 13 here — tell the receiving of&cer that this man is 
charged with felony under the "False personation act." 

Bailiff. Your honor, at whose instance? 

Glyre. At mine ! At the instance of Cuthbert Fielding, Squire and Mag- 
istrate. 

Cuth. {springing towards Am) Scoundrel I 

Bailiff and Servants interfere. Picture — curtain. 

Servant. Cuthbert. Sebvant. Glyke. 

Andrew. Bailiff. Edith. Cykil. 

END OF ACT III. 



ACT IV. 

Drawing-room at Fielding Manor. Door c. ; set door e. 5 e. ; chair r. 2 e. ; 
two chairs r. c. and l. c. ; table L. 3 e. ; chair l. 2 e. Edith and Rebecca 
discovered seated. 

Rebecca, {h. c.) As for Abercrombie, his behavior has been cowardly to 
the last degree. 

Edith, (t. c., surprised) Cowardly ? What did he do? 

Rebecca. Do ? Why, he let them carry pa oflfl 

Edith. Dear Eebecca, you talk about the Misses Maitland, as if they were 
two panthers. « 

Rebecca, {fuviing) They're worse ! They're tigresses I They've got him 
in^tbeir claw's, and instead of eating him they're going to marry him. 

Edith, {laughing) Not both surely ! 

Rebecca. {almoU crying) How can you laugh at my misery ? You don't 
sympathise with me one bit — you'd just as soon see me bullied by a step- 
mother as not — dragged around the room by the hair of my head. There's 
nobody cares for me — nobody — you and Abercrombie, both laugh in your 
sleeves at me when you ought to fight for me, tooth and nail. 

Enter Abercrombie e. 3 e., rather warm and excited. Edith busies herself 
with her fancy-work, and Rebecca pic«.s up book from table l. C, and pre- 
tends to be very busy reading, paying no attention whatever i-o Abercrombie. 

Aber. (putting hands in pocket, comically) Well, Rebecca, has the stray 
lamb returned ? (Rebtjcca pays no attention) Humph ! What have I done? 
Didn't I aid you in that awful falsehood you told Aliss Eugenia? It gives 
me a cold chill now when I think of the disgraceful perjury I comrnited, 
and just to please a whim of yours. By Jove! It's too bad the way I'm 
treated — a poodle has a much better time, for he now and then gets a sugar 
plum instead of a kick. But I receive nothing but kicks — I know what I'll 
do, I'll go up to London, {takcs'out watch) Let's see, there's a train at quarter 
after three ; I'll have time to catch it. 

Rebecca still continues reading, Ajiv,s.cs.O},iBiv. paces stage, whistleing mourn- 
fully. Enter General r. 3 k. — Rebecca sees him and instantly drops book 
and C07nes doion l. c. 

Rebecca, {scornfully) Well, pa; so you have returned? 

General, {bluntly) Yes, Miss, I've returned and you'll please understand 
that I return a new character — henceforth I am to be master in my own 
house, and not a puppet whose wires are to be pulled according to your 
willful whims. 



80 FIELDING MANOR. 

Rehecca. {moaning) Pa, I have only this to say — if you marry either of 
the Misses Mttitland — I — I shall go into a convent. 

General. It's the only sort a veil you deserve, {laughing at his oivn joke 
he starts to go) 

Rebecca. Are you going to pay a visit, pa ? 

General. Yes ! 

Aber. {scornfully) Not to the Misses Maitland, I hope, General? 

General, {redening up) What is that to you sir ? 

Aber. {solemnly) It is a great deal to your daughter, if not to me, sir. 
Your attention to those ladies, makes hor believe 

Gaicral. {furiously) Who cares what she believes, or you either ? I am 
the master of my own affairs if you please, {shakinr; finger at Abercrombie) 
I forgave you for aiding Rebecca yesterday in that horrible libel against 
my sanity. But beware, sirl for I will not forgive you a second time. 

Aber. {i. c.) I cannot see you make yourself ridiculous at your advanc- 
ed age. 

General. What do you mean? 

Aber. I mean that you are going to elope this day. You look it — you are 
strangely excited — you scarcely ate a morsel of breakfast this morning. Tell 
me General, am I not right? 

General, {roaring) Confound you! my doings are none of your business. 
( Abercrombie siczes his coat sleeve) Let go my sleeve, sir I How dare you ? 
How dare you — I say ? 

Aber. {keeping hold of him) In mercy's name, think of Rebecca, you'll 
kill her if you do it. 

Gener.il. {raising his cane) Get out if ray way or I'll break your meddle- 
Bome head for you. 

Aber, I don't care whether you break my head or not. {valorously) It's 
Rebecca's heart that I don't want you to break. 

Gekebal raises cane and makes bloio at Abercrombie who dodges first blow 
but receives second on his head — a general scuffle ensues. Abercrombie gets 
General's wig, and with a triumphant cry, he breaks aioay from, him. 

Aber. (l. c.) Ah, ah! You can't get married without this I 
General, (l. c, putting his hat on over his ears) We'll see ! We'll see I 

{strides off furiously r. 3 e. 
Rebecca, {running after him) Oh, dear! oh, dear ! Pa! Pa! 
Aber. {stands an instant examining wig then follows) Rebecca 1 Stop ! Stop! 

{exit R. 3 K. 

Edith stands laughing looking after them. Glyre enters r. 1 e. — Edith sees him 
and comes down, 

Edith, (l. c.) Cuthbert I have been so worried about you, I feared 

Glyre. {looking sharply at her) Well, what did you fear, Edith ? 

Edith, (faltering) Ali, Cuthbert! I — I was afraid that you and Cyril 
had met. 

Glyre. {turning away) We have met. 

Edith, {alarmed) Oh, you do not mean that there has been any fresh 
quarrel ? * 

Glyre. Edith, I mean this — Cyril Garland, is an unprincipled knave. 

Edith, {quickly) Oh, no — no ! You wrong him ; he is at least acting 
from honest conviction. 

Glyre. Ah ! so you uphold him ? 

Edith, {quickly) You have no right te say that. Has not my own con- 
duct shown that J do not share his doubts ? 

Glyre. {going to her and taking her hands) If you my sister, do not stand 
by me, how can I hope that any one will do bo ? 



FIELDING MANOR. 31 

Edilh. {prom-ptly) Have I not told you that I believe you to be my 
brother? 

GU/re. Edith, Listen to me. I visited this raan, John Stanley, in jail 
where he was lawfully confined ; I wished to try and rouse some dormant 
good in the man, to show him in clear colors the villainous part ho is play- 
ing. It seems that Cyril was concealed in Stanley's cell while I made my 
exhortation, I did not know of his presence until afterward, but when I had 
finished speaking he burst forth upon me and declared that he would pub- 
lish to the world a statement that should convince me of having confessed 
my name as Lunian Glyre, and not Cuthbert Fielding. 

Edith, {faintly) Can it be possible? 

Ghjre. It is the truth. When I asked hira in amazement on what spoken 
words of mine he would base his charge, the man simply laughed and said 
that he should have no difiiculty in preparing an accusation which many 
would implicity believe. Oh, Edith I it has now become merely a question 
whether you admit Cyril Garland to be a knave— or — or whether you believe 
wie, your brother, to be a vile impostor. 

'Edith, {after pause) Cyril Garland is dead to me, forever! 

Glyre. {eagerly) You swear it ? 

GhYRT. forgeU himself siezes her in hia arms and kisses her passionately , Edith 
struggles and shrinks away from hin, flushing — Glyre is very much fright- 
ened. 

Edith. What — what does this mean ? 

Glyre. {recoverinrj hinisc/f) I do not understand you, Edith, my sister. I3 
it strange that I your brother should feel my brotherly heart glow toward 
3'ou with a new affection when I hear you confess to the loyalty of a true 
Fielding? to being your father's own daughter, and worthy of a name which 
no treachery has ever soiled for nine long centuries ? 

Glyke starts and goes to b. 1 e. — Edith follows him and throws herself into his 

arms. 

Edith. Cuthbert, forgive me ! 

Glyre embraces her tenderly and exits r. 1 e. Cyril enters e. 3 e., and comes 
to Edith who stands near e. 3 e. 

Cyril. Edith ! 

Edith, {turning quickly, confused) I — I did not expect 

Cyril. To find me here — I know it, but now that I have come, now that 
we have met face to face — I — I must speak of the note you recently sent me. 
Edith Fielding, do you believe that I have dealt in gross falsehood ? 

Edith, {hesitating) I — I do believe it. ■ {turns aiony. 

Cyril, (l. c, appcaUngly) Oh, Eilith, you have known me from child- 
hood, how can you believe that 1 am capable of soiling my lips with a lie? 
However, the man who calls himself your brother, may have deceived you 
regarding what occurred last night in prison. 

Edith, (e. c, haughtily) Do not speak of what occurred last night in the 
prison. 

Cyril. Listen Edith — only listen. That man entered the cell not dream- 
ing that I was there, the light was dim, the man whom I knew to be your 
brother had retired into an adjoining apartment. Luciau Glyre saw a form 
near the table — its face was hidden, ho mistook it for the face of Cuthbert 
Fielding — it was I. He drew nenr and there in the dimness spoke words 
that made me certain of his real identity. He offered your brother a bribe 
of enormous amount if he would agree to call himself John Stanley and ■ 
not Cuthbert Fielding. I heard it all, and when I arose to denounce him he 
shrank back in self-convicted guilt. This ia as true as heaven itself — I, Cyril 
tell it to you. I %vould give my life Edith a hundred times rather than 
speak any falsehood in your hearing, you know that I am proud ; you must 
Jeel what it cost me to humble myself thus even before you after having re- 



8S ' FIELDING MANOR. 

ceived from yon this degrading accusation of falsity. But why do I so 
liumble myself? It is to save you, darling — to save you aal to serve you, 

Edith stands r. c, with drooj)ing head during this ap cal. 

Editli. {slowly lifting her head) You — you waut me to believe this 7 
Cyril, (l. c.) I demaud it — I demand it in the name of the love you 
once swore to me ! 

Edith, {after slight pause) Cyril, I do believe it. {falls into his arms. 

Enter Nina k, 3 e. 

Nina. Edith ! 

Edith, {amazed) Nina Chauncy I 

Nina. Yfis, it is I — you thought me far away, did you not? 

Edit., {coldly) Yes, and why have yon returned ? 

Nina I have returned because the oath that I swore to Liician Glyro, is 
canceled. He offered to restore me my child, Edith, if I would go from 
here and torment him no more. I did go, but on reaching London my 
anxiety to learn something of my poor darling, made me telegraph to 
America, the answer came that my boy was dead ; he died of scarlet fever 
two months ago. For sometime I had remained in London utterly over- 
whelmed by the shock, but now my strength permits, I have returned. 

Edith. And for what purpose ? 

Nina. To tell you that this man is not your brother. Oh, Edith 1 yon 
will you 7mcst listen to me. 

Edith. Go ! I do not believe you. I have heard the whole story of your 
past life from my brother — I know how you deceived him, betrayed him. 

Nina. It is false. Oh, Edith ! in the name of your poor dead aunt, I 
implore 

Enter OcxnEERT, unobserved. 

Edith. Do not insult me by reference to Aunt Catherine when you are 
seeking that I shall give ear to slanderous untruths. Once more I bid you 
lease this house forever! {pointing to door. 

Nina. She believes him still — oh, this is horrible. 

{covers her face with her hands. 

Ci/ril. {coming down) Edith 

Edith, {irresolute) I — I did not expect — (see? Cuthbekt, jfoes to him with out- 
' stretched arms) Cuthbert, my brother, forgive me. 

Cuth. {c, embracing her) Edith! I do forgive you unreservedly. Yours 
has been a hnrd position, I know you have acted only as your truthful im- 
pulses compelled you to act, I bear no ill feeling, and trust that the future 
Tiiay clearly show to you how loving and sincere is my pardon. 
Edith turns to Nixa a7id they embrace. 

Edith. I am convinced at last, I cannot doubt any longer. Ah 1 Nina, 
iow churlishly stubborn you must have thought me.* 

Nina. Do not think ofthat now, it is all passed, I shall forget that our 
friendship has ever been broken by a single adverse ripple. And now let 
lis consult as to your future course — there is no time to be lost. 

Edith, {helplessly) What can I do ? 

Nina, {solcjnnly) You may unveil this hideous impostor if you choose. 

Edith. If I choose ? 

Nina. Yes, I mean if you have the will and courage. 

Edith, {amazed) Explain ! 

Nina. I will — Edith, Lucian Glyre loves you. 

Edith. Oh, yes, it must, be true ; you are right, there have been, times cer- 
tain signs — I — I cannot mistake them now, though I did bo then. 

*CcTHBF.RT. Nina. Edith. CyriI/. 



FIELDING MANOR. SS 

[ Cyril. Edith, I believe that this love is providential, I guessed it before. 
You know what made me guess it? lustiiict! 
Sdith. Instinct? 

Cyril. Yes, the instinct that to eve«y lover's heart reveals its rival. 
E-liih. Ah ! you said this before. 

CiUh. And you Edith, promised to teat the truth of that assertion. I re- 
member your words very clearly, my sister, I have reasons to remember 
them, they were these — "If the love this man feels for nie springs not from. 
a brother's heart, I'll make that heart throb till it shakes the mask from 
his face." 

Edith, {trembling) It is true, these were my words, {to Ctkil) Cyril, I 
<;ould not feign for one who is not even my brother, a love like — like — 

Cyril, {putting arm around her) Like the love you feel for me my dar- 
ling. Oh, Twill love you all the better for that, Edith, aud believe me it is 
the only way now left us to arrive at the truth. 

Edith, {fdiivering) The only way? 
» Nina. The (mly way. Your aunt's death, and the infirmity of Andrew, 
leaves but one witness whose testimony can unmask this man. 

Edith, {aoitated) And that witness? 

Nina. That witness is himteif. 

Cuth. Yes, and the only counsel that can wring confession from him is 
^Rurself. 

Edith. But the task is so terrible — bo difficult for me. 

Cuth. {hurriedly) Your task is not so hard after all for he will not see 
the web or understand the lure. 

Edith, {clasping her hands) But I don't know what to do, what to say, 
how to speak. 

Cyril. Speak to him Edith — yes, speak to him — as you toould speak to 
me. 

Edith, {hiding her face in her hands) Oh, Cyril ! 

Cyril. . {after a struggle icith himself)^ Edith, I ask it for the sake of yon- 
der suffering man, whom you, his sister may save from worse suffering still. 
'J ask it for the sake of your noble ancestry, whose historic glories should 
not thus be stolen by a trickster, like a purse bj' a thief I ask it in the 
name of your dead mother whose true son you are dooming to poverty, per- 
jhaps to life long imprisonment, while the traitor usurps his birth-right. 
\{slight pause) I ask it in the name of the very love I bear you, and that 
which you feel for me. Oh, Edith, consent! in mercy to us all consent! 

Edith, {throwing up her head with flashing eyes) Plead with me no more, 
ICyril. I will do it. 

Cuth, {aside) Thank heaven ! 

Cyril. He will tell you all if you lead him to it by slow and sure degrees, 
iat least, this is our hope. 

Edith, {thoughtfully) Still — it may fail. 

Cyril. True, but that mainly depends upon — upon — 

Edith. Myself, {firmly) I will do my best I promise you all. {going r. 
1 E.) But oh ! it all seems so hazardous. 

Nina, {going to her and comfortingly) You know the old proverb, "Nothing 
ventured" — and we have so much to gain, think of that. 

Edith. Oh, 1 do think of that. 

>Shc leans on Nina and' they slowly exit r. 1 e. Cuthbert and Cyril exit l. h. 
Enter Rebecca and Abercrombie e. 3 e. 

Rebecca. I want to have a talk with Edith ; I want to ask her advice 
about this horrid affair, and then too she is in trouble. That matter of a 
new claimant to the Fielding property having suddenly arisen is making a, 
Igreat stir through the country ; my maid Ellen tells me, that everybody 19 
discussing it. {leading l. C. 

Aber. {dryly) Yes, I see — you have two motives for coming over to tho 
Manor — one is despair — the other is — ahem — curiosity. 



\S4 FIELDING MANOR. 

Mcbecca. {snapislih/) Abercrombie, if you mean to indulge in any of yoar 
languid impudence, I'll send you home. 

Aber. {innocentlT/) Why, what ou earth do you mean? I hadn't the 
least idea 

Rebecca, {breaking in) I didn't say you had — oh, dear, don't think that 
I ever accused you of anyihing so valuable as an idea in all your lazy life. 
But you know how to be impertinent — to poke fun at me when I have a — 
{patlicticly) — a bleeding heiirt. 

Aber. {draw/i'iir/) Oh, don't mind it, let it bleed — it ■will do you good. I 
flay Rebecca, if ynur father is to be murried this morning, don't you think 
that duty coinmnnde you to appear at the ceremony. (EEr.ECCA groa^is) The 
General wont have any body to give him away, you know. He can't give 
Jiimftelf away can he? 

. Hcbccca. No ! But he can ihrorn hiynadf away, and that is precisely ^vhat 
lie is doing. (Abekcrombie is walking up and down stage) For charity's sake, 
<do sit down, you make me nervous. 

Aber. Oh, you're so irritable. ' 

. Rebecca. You would irritate a saint, {solemnly) Have I not renounced 
■JOM forever ? . * 

Aber. Goodness me, you're always doing that. But Rebecca I can't al- 
iJow myself to be renounced, that's the worst of it — I only wish I could. 
^tragically) Is the needle responsible for pointing toward the pole? C:^ 
Ithe bee give a lucid explanation why it hovers about the rose ? 
• Rebecca, {partly S'-^ftcned) But you promised to restrain pa, and you 
lisllowed him to slip through your fingers. 

Aher. {in hollow base tones) Rebecca, have you observed that since my 
tjneeting with your j)arent this morning, I have thus far remained cover- 
ed in your presence ? 

Rebecca, {indifferently) I've observed nothing at all about you. 

{not looking up. 

Aher. Gaze, unfeeling girl — gnze, and repent. (Abercrombie tate of^ hat 
i^ind shoivs patch of broian paper on head — Rebecca rises iip in startled manner. 

Rebecca. Wliat do you mean ? 

Aber. {tragically) Don't you smell a strong odor of vinegar? 
' Rebecca. INo. 

Aber. (l. c.) The spartan boy of old concealed a wolf beneath his tunic; 
I, a more modern martyV have worn brown paper and vinegar for three 
■mortal hours beneath my hat. Rebecca, I won't horrify you with a sight 
of the awful bump that the revered stick of your infernal father — uo, I 
mean the infernal stick of your revered father, this morning raised upon 
»xny devoted head. 

Rebecca, (going to him) Oh, poor Abby, to think that you had to stand 
such shameful treatment. 

Aber. {drawing out General's wig from pocket) I hare gained one trophy, 
it was torn from the enemy as he lied. 

Rebecca, {siezing wig) Well, there's one comfort, he won't dare to get 
married without it. 

Aber. I thought so at first, but I've changed ray mind, Rebecca. He'll 
tell his intended bride that we've scalpr-d him, and like Desdemona, she'll 
love him all the more for his hair breadths escapes. 

Enter General, Margaretta and Eugenia, b. 3 e. Rebecca r^ns to General 
and puts on his wig. 

Rebecca. There pa, now that you are yourself again, tell me, are you mar- 
ried? 

General, {casting sly looks at Margaretta) Yes, Miss — I — am. 

Rebecca, {wildly) He admits it, Abercrombie? this miserable old man 
confeases openly that he is married, {glancing at the sisters) Which of you 
ie it? {pointing to Margaretta) It's you 1 There's orange blossoms in your 



FIELDING MANOR. S5 

bonnet. Oh, that I should have lived to see this day! What is to become 
of rue? 

Aber. Why, fly to these a^rms for protection, (to Margaretxa) You in- 
>tend to be a great tyrant, don't you, Miss Margaretta ? 

JSu^enia. [shorkcd) Mrs. General Stanley — if you please. 

Margaretta. Yes — Mrs. General Stanley — if you please. 

General, {to RiCBECCA blandhj) Abercrombie's advice is excellent, my 
dear, since my action is p:ist recall, why not be philosophic and follow my 
example? Crown the happiness of your long patient adorer yonder, by con- 
senting to become his wile — and egad if you do it — I'll — I'll settle as hand- 
some a duwery on you as any young bride in the country has had for many 
a year. And be certain of one thing, Rebecca, that you will never regret it 
if you consent to marry Abercrombie. 

General turns a7id talks aside xoith the sisters R. c. Abrrcrombie overwhelm- 
ed with jot/, rushes to Rebecca's side. 

Abcr. No, Ret)ecca, as your worthy father says, you'll never forget — I 
mean regret it. I will lulfil toward you, my darling, every possible re- 
lation. I'll be your father, mother, uncle, aunt, your step-mothei — 

Rebecca, {frowning) Abercrombie ! {then cries and allows ABERCROMBtE 
to take her hand) If I do acoept you, it will be as a refuge — an asylum. 

Aber. {debghtcd) Anasyhiiu! Don't mention it — I'll be a whole pen- 
itentiary I {goes up L. c, talking with Rebecca ; General and the two sisters 
down c. 

Enter Edith r. 1 E. Rebecca see Edith and runs to her — Abercrombie down l. h. 

Ecbccca. Oh, Edith I Pa's married! 

Edith. Ah! indeed, ^crosses to sisters) Which am I to congratulate? 
you Eugenia ? 

Eugenia, {indiqnantljj) Me ? no indeed! ((/oes wp to General c. 

Margaretta. {blathinj) Yes — no, indeed! 

Edith. You Margaretta? {(joes up talking r. c. — General and Eugenia 
CQ77ie down. 

Eugenia, (r. l.) A common sailor claim to be the scion of the Fieldings 
a decendant of the Maitlands — it seems too absurd. 

Margaretta. {coming down k. h.) Yes — too absurd. 

Enter Andrew, r. 1 h. 

Andrew. Miss Edith, your Squire Fielding has returned. 
Edith, (confused) Very well, Andrew, tell him I will see him here. 
Andrew. Y'es, Miss Edith. (crit r. 1 e. 

Eugenia, {to Edith) Edith, we will leave you alone with your dear broth- 
er, for we must get back to the Grange for dinner— au revoir. 
Edith. Good-bye. 

Exit omnes r. 3 e. Enter Glybe, r 1 b. 

Gli/re. You wished to see me, Edith? 

Edith, {starts, thei vi eels arm-chair l. c, she gets r. c.) I wondered where 
you had gone, (softly) You seem unusually worried, Cuthbert. i 

Glyre. (seated h. c.) Have I not reason to be? this impostor has been 
released on bail — Cyril Garland hiis helped to get him free. I have been 
talliing with lawyers, and pocjple of that sort; already the bitter complica- 
tion have begui], who can tell how much trouble may follow ? Oh, it is a 
most wretched affair. {pause. 

Edith. {putti7ig her hand in his) Still Cuthbert, he cannot turn you from 
your rightful place so long as be fails to prove that you are not my brother, 
and — am I not by your aide ? 

Glyre. (passionately) And what sorrow has it not cost you, surrendering 



86 FIELDING MANOR. 

the man you love? For as I told you, it is he, Cyril Garland, who bag pro- 
cured this impostor's bail. 

Edith. {Iboklng down, loiih dreamy tome) I supposed so -when I heard this 
morning that he had been released — but don't think of me. 

Gli/rc. Not think oi i/ou, Edith ; can I be!p thinlting of the struggle your 
heart must be enduring between your duty to lue, and your love for him. 

{pause. 

Edith.- {loith feeling) The struggle has been lesa painful than you think, 
Cuthbert. Irises. 

Glyrc. \startiiin v.j> engcrji/) What — what do you mean? Do — do you 
not love Cyril Garland, siill ? 

Edith. I — I don't know, Cuthbert — a great change has come over me of 
late — it seems as if — as if J — I scarcely know myself. 

Gb/re. (terribly agitated) And — and you can renounce him, without 
pain? 

Edith. It — itseemstome — that I — I could do anything for your sake, 
that I could dispense with any other love, as long as 1 ha'Vie yours. I don't 
know why, Cuthbert, {clasping her hamh) but yours is the only love my 
heart seems novv to yearn for — to crave: I want no other love so long as I 
have yours. 

Glyre. {going to her, agitated) My love, Edith? Mine? Can my love 
compensate you for — for ■ 

Edith, (turning suddenly to him) Yes, and yours only. I can't explain 
why, but it' you will remain near me in the future, I shall be more than 
contented, I shall care nothing for Cyril's loss. 

Glyre. But ibink, you will go into the world— see younger men — be ad- 
mired — sought after — and in time — you — you will — marry 

Edith. Never I I will devote myself only to you. 

Glyre catches her in his arms and kisses her passionately on the lips, he forgets 
hijnsclf entirely, 

Glyre. {vAth , fierce joy) And I — Edith — I will be your adorer — your slave, 
{suddenly remembers himirlf and rele'ir<cs her from his embrace — aside) Heavens 
what have I done ? What have I said ? 

Edith, (faltering) Cuthbert, I do not understand you — you have roused 
straiifje feelings — misgivings, 

Glyre. Misgivings? Of what? 

Edith, (putting her hand to her hcid in a ■puzzled icay) I hardly know — I 
dare not guess, (piteously) Tell me I am wrong 1 Tell me it is some de- 
lusion ! The truth ! 

Glyre. (trcmblmg) The truth ? 

Edith. Yes, the truth ! In pity to me the truth, you know my meaning— 
the truth ! (she stretches forth Iter arms appcalingly to him. He loses himself 
entirely and goes on recklessly) 

Glyre. You shall have the truth cost what it may, Edith I I amnat your 
brother. (Music tremolo till curtain. 

Edith. Then you — are 

Glyre. lamLucian Glyre I 

Edith. Thank heaven ! (clasping her hands. 

Glyre. (recklessly) Yes, thank heaven I I am Lucian Glyre — 'let all go, 
go that I keep your lr>ve. I will reinstate your brother — give up all — beg 
hia pardon, if he refuses it, I will wring millions for you from nature's cof- 
fers in that wild Australian laud. Oh ! how gladly — how proudly I will 
work fur vou ! (pansing suddenly) But you — you feurn from me, you shud- 
der, Edith, why — why is this? 

Enter Cvril, Cuthbekt and Nixa l. h. Rkbecca, Abercrombie, Geserai,' 
Marc.abetia, Eugenia and OpriCEK, r. 3 e, Akdrkw, b. 1 e. 



FIELDING MANOR. S7 

CyriL At last ! {to Officer) Officer, do your duty. 

Edith gfoes <o Cyril, and Ovf\cf.k slowly gooi to Glyrk who alands motionless 
c.yxoith folded arms, gcsing rcproachfut/y at Fiimu. 

Gli/re. (c, sohmnhj) The noblest emotion that ever filled a man's breast, 
proves my ruin. One moment Edith Fieldiua;, had you truly loved me 
that love would have beeu my redemption — my salvation, and when in 
after years you recall what I now utter, may it's memory soften your h-eart 
toward me — a little — onlya little, (given away to his feeliirgs and then proud- 
ly recovers himscJf and tta-n.s to Officku) Ollicer, do your duty I 

{Music tncreascs toff. 

Officer. Glyre. 

NiN'i. CuTHBEKT. Edith. Cvril. Axduew. 

Eugenia. M.vrgakktta. Grxkrai,. Rei;ecca. Arerceombie. 

PICTURE. CURTAIN. 



RELATIVE rOSITIOXS, EXITS, &e. 

R., means Right; l.. Left; u. ii., Right Hand, l. h.. Left Hand; c. Centre; s. E. 
[2d E.,] Second Entrance; u. R., Upper Entrance; ii. d., Middle Door; f., the Flat; 
D. p., Door in Flat; r. c. Right of Centre; i.. c Left of Centre. 

K. R. c. r. L. c. L. 

•«* The reader is supposed to be upon the Stage, facins the audieoce. 



r 



NEW MILITARY ALLEOORT. 



Tlie Spy of Atlanta. 

A grand military allegory in (J acts, by A. D Ames and C. Q. 
Bartley, 14 male, 3 female characters, with as many supernumary 
ladies and gents as the stage may afford room for. This greet play 
is founded on incidents which actually occured during the war of 
the Rebellion — it introduces Ohio's brave and gallant McPheraon — 
the actual manner of his capture and death is shown. It abounds 
with thp most beautiful tableaux, drill, marches, eceneg upon the 
battle fii'ld, m Andersonville, etc., and is pronounced by the press 
and public, the most successful military play ever produced. G. A. 
R. Posts, Military Companies and other organizations, who may 
wish something which will draw, should produce it. It may not be 
out of place to add that this play with the incidents ol the death of 
the gallant McPherson, was written with the full consent of the 
General's brother, R. B. McPherson, sisce dead, who fully approved 
of it. Below will be found a synopsis of incidents, etc. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act 1st. Home of Fanner Dalton. "don't talk politics." The dinner hour. 
News from Fort Surupter, and call for 75,000 men. Quarrel of old friends. 
"They hung traitors in former times." Oath of vengeance. The patriotic 
Dutchman. His wonderful story. Husband and wife. "Go, and may God 
bless vou." Little Willie. "Dot dog." The Dutchman organizes a compa- 
ny. Parting of lovers, and "parting for ever." "Coentry first and love 
afterwards." Schneider, the Dutchman, and his new company. He means 
business and shows his "poys" that he understands military business. En- 
listing. Schneider and his company siy:n the rolls. The Daltous. "Hus- 
band, must you go?" Duty. Liitle Willie. "Please, mother, may I go?" 
Presentation of the flag. Parting of loved ones. 

Act 2nd. Camp by night. The letter from home. Army duties. Songs 
and merriment. "Tenting on the old camp ground." Inspection of the 
regiment. Generals McPherson and Sherman. News from Atlanta. A 
brave man required. The dangerous mission. Promise of promotion given 
by McPlierson. Departure of the spy. The Confederate camp. Capt. St. 
Clair's soliloquy. Plotting. Pete. The old Negio is used rather roughly. 
Father and son. The man who stutters so badly. The discovery. "A spy." 
"Do your worst, you cowardiv traitor." Pete makes himself useful. "No 
chance of life." Thrilling ta'bleau and capture of St. Clair. Escape ol St. 
Clair. The pursuit. Generals McPherson and Sherman. News from the 
front, McPherson preparing for battle. Firing on the left. "I must at once 
ascertain the cause." The rebel squad. McPherson's danger. "Halt and 
surrender." The fatal shot. "It is General McPherson ; you have killed 
the best man in the Union Army." 

Act 3d. Return of the spy. Sherman hears of the death of his friend. The 
enemy's lines in motion. The long roll and general engagement. 

Aci4th. Battlefield by night. "Water! I am dying for the want of water." 
Little Willie. The traitor forgiven. Edwin and Willie are made piisoners. 
Tbe discovery, and renewal of the oath of vengeance. 

Act 5th. Andersonville with all its horrors. Hope of being exchanged. The 
last crust of bread. St. Clair informs Edwin of the arrival of his wife. 
Fears of insanity, and prayers to God for reason to know her. The maniac. 
"Oh, brother, don't you know me? I am your brother Willie." Maud ar- 
rives. Terror on beholding her husband. "He must know me." The pic- 
ture. The recognition of the picture, and "you are — no I can not be wrong, 
you are Maud, my wife, thank God." Villainy of St. Clair. The cry for 
bread. Bravery of Willie. The fatal shot, and death of the brave boy. 
Madness. The curse. "Boys, let us pray that this may soon end." The 
rescue. 

Act 6th. News of the surrender of Lee. The new love. The vacant ehair. 
Happiness of Pete. Return of the boys, and Joyful meeting of loved ones. 
Bummer's march, and beautiful tableau. 

Price, 2b cents per copy. 



RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 

An entirely new mid original Nautical and Temperance Drama, by the Ant*- 
ateur's favorite author, W. Henri Wilkins, entitled 

THE TURN OF THE TIDE, 



OR 



WRECKED IN PORT, 



There is no doubt but Mr. Wilkins is at this time the most popular write* 
of plays for Amateur Dramatic Companies in the UnitcH States, if not in the 
world. He is the author of Rock Allen the Orphan, Three Glasses a Day, 
The Reward of Crime, Mother's Fool, The Coming Man, etc., all of which 
have been produced by nearly all amateur companies in the United Statea 
and Canada. We take much pleasure in presenting now his latest and best 
drama as above, knowing that it will invariably suit all who purchase it. 
The characters embrace an old man, 1st. and 2d lea'lintc men, villain, two 
ruffians, and a 'nigger' who is very funny. Those who have produced 'Out 
in the Streets' will find 'Pepper' in this play, fully as funny as 'Pete' in 
that. Female characters are a fault-linding old woman, leading, juvenile, 
and a splendid comedy. The plot is simple, and yet very effective. The 
serious portions are balanced by the comedy ones, indeed it is the drama 
Amateurs want. See synopsia b^Vijy, Price 15c each. Send one cent post- 
age stamps if possible, or 28 

SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 

Act First, — The fisherman's home — reminiscences of the wreck. Thegath" 
ering storm — Reference to the money — Entrance of the Pir.ite — Aunt Becky 
expresses her opinion of him — Pepper tells his story — The sunset gun — The 
storm breaks — Susie's secret— Pepper struck by lightning — A signal of dis- 
tress on the water — Clyde's proposal — "I have the power" — Lillian's secret 
— "Why can't I die! He has forfeited all claims to honor or respect, and 
hopelessly cast me oif, yet notwithstanding all this, I love him."— Entrance 
of Clyde, "You here ! Begone and let your lips be sealed, or I'll cut out your 
quivering heart and throw it to the fishes who sport in yonder deep"— 
Clyde's soliloquy "Ah, Capt. St. Morris, a fig for your gilded castles bui t 
on air." — The pirates rob the house. 

Act Second,— Frisky's communings — She and Pepper have a little falling 
out — Pepper's pursuit of knowledge under the table— Clyde shows his colors 
and plays his first card, "Then my answer must be 'yes,' though it break the 
heart of my child." — The old man tries to drown his sorrow — Pepper goes 
for clams — Entrance of Lillian, "Yes, pirate though you are, and chieftain 
of the hunted crew, I love you still I The time will come when you will find 
I am the truest friend you ever bad." — Aunt Becky relieves herself of a few 
ideas and Pepper gives her a few more — The old fisherman falls a victim to 
Intemperance, and Aunt Becky expresses her opinion of "sich doins." — Th( 
meeting of Clyde and St. Morris— The combat— Death of Clyde, "Oh, Hea. 
ven 1 I am his wife." — Tableau. 

Act Third.— One year later — Company expected — Pepper has a "werr 
curis" dream — Cap* St. Morris relates a story to Susie — Love-making inter 
rupted by the old fisherman — His resolution to reform— Aunt Becky think/ 
she is 'slurred.' — Lillian communes with her own thoughts — The Colonel ar- 
rives—Pepper takes him in charge and relates a wonderful whaling story- 
Restoration of the stolen money — "The same face. Heavens 1 I cannot b« 
mistaken." "It's all out."— The Colonel finds a daughter— He tells the 
story of his escape from the wreck— Old friends meet— The Colonel's propo- 
sal and acceptance. "Bress de Lawd."— Happ.y ending, with song and 
chorui.— "Wait Fo« Thb Tubs Of Thb TiBt" 



HAL HAZARD, OR THE FEDERAL SPY. 

A MUitaru Uraiiin ofthf late irrir of the R'h'/liun, in four acts, 

BY FJifJD. G. Andrews. 

This drama is a great success and is published now for the first time, from the 
author's original manuscript. There has been a demand for a plav which could be 
used by Grand Ar(ily Posts, Military Companies, etc., which would be effective, and 
j'et not difficult to represent. This want Hal ILi/.ard will supply. 

It h.as ei^ht male characters and three female. A feiv soldiers lioth U. S. and C. 
S., may be used, but there is no elaborate drills or dilficult stage business to try the 
patience of the manager. It takes f uu V% to 2 hours to present it. 

The leading character is a double one — "(reorge Clarendon," who assumes thochnr- 
acter of "Old Hal" a verydeaf and shi-ewed old man, who is equally at home in the 
Confederate or Federal Camp. As the Spy he is always on hand at the piopcr time, 
and always comes out ahead in all places where his services are needed. Tl*e other 
cliaracters are all good, consisting of a Cai>tain and Lieutenant in the U. S. Ar>ny, 
and four Confederates, (icnerals Sherman, Stoneman and (rarrard are represented, 
but may be omitted if desired. There is also an excellent Leading Lady, Old Wo- 
man and Negro Comedy Woman. 

Those who order and produce this play will be more thnn pleased. — Price 2.5c. 

"Suii])/!J Iiiiiiiense.'" w the verdict of ever]/ conipon]/ irhlch producer it, and eiXfi-p one 

wlio rendu it! Tiro hours of continwtl >icrcaiii>i of /niiuhtcr.'.' The funnient 

of all modi ri) conicdiis, entitled 

--t^^AN AFFLICTED FAMILY.i^^.^ 

OR, A DOCTOR WITHOUT A DIPLOMA. 

n Y MA L COLM S. TA YL OR. 

There is always a demand for a Play which is funny, .-ind written in such a way as 

to be easily represented as rcg.irds scenery, and not to difficult in its icpresentation. 

This comedy will be found all that is desired. The following is a description of the 

characters: 

C. Crotchet, n retired, merchant, si eJc in the spleen 

B. Frizzy, a barber addicted to pvnnivp and scrapes 

Dr. (jr. Linton, a practical physician, troubled with patients 

L. Staple, a young merchant, subject to bashfulness 

Clarence, o student, inclined to ale 

•John Henry, a man servant, complaining of nrjtliing to do 

I. Seizer, a constable, used to take attuiy badeffectg 

Mrs. Crotchet an invalid, ill with nervousness 

I)oll.v'nJer neicf^**''^'} '""'' "ff<^ctedwith a disease of tit e heart, called love 

Dorothy, atnaiden aunt, afflicted irith deafness,\hiittinn, and a poodledog 

Betty a maidservant, svfj'cring out of sympathy for Frizzy 

Each one of the above characters is worthy the talent of the best Comedy repre- 
sentatives, either in or out of the P-ofession. Amateurs especially vyill find the Play 
eminently suited to their wants. It is in four acts, each act consisting of only one 
scene. The costumes modern, and scenes all interiors, enabling companies with a 
limited stock of scenery to produce it ea.'iiy. Nothing like a description of the ludi- 
crous and laughable situations can be given here — Imt we can truly assure our friends 
that nearly every speech is the signal Uit roars of laughter and rounds of applause. 
If you want something pathetic don't send for it, but if you desire fun from the rise 
of the curtain on the first act, till its fall on the Ins- act, you may be sure of not be- 
ing disappointed if you order this. Price 1.5 cents per copy. 

HIIXTS TO AMATEUR.'!*, by A. ». Aincs. 

A book of useful information for Amateurs and others, written expressly for tho.«e 
who are giving public entertainments — and who wish to make their efforts successful 
— containing much information never before given. Mr. Ames has had many years 
experience, and in this work gives many hints which cannot fail to be of great benefit 
to all. The following subjects are treated in a clear and concise manner: 

The effects of the drama on the mind — The dramatic club a means of charity — Use- 
ftil hints— Necessity of a book of plain instructions— Formation of a dramatic com- 
pany — Duties of the manager — Assigning parts — Duty of the prompter— Duty of the 
property man— Music for plays — llehearsals — Hints — Best methods of studying — 
Stage laughs— Speaking loud — Articulation — How to be prompted — Getting the back 
to the Audience— Making up — How to burn a colored fire — How to make fuses — To 
make a rain storm— To make thunder— To make lightning— To make a wind storm — 
Imitation of clouds — Imitation of waves — How to produce a crash— How to produce 
snow — Success on the stage — A short history of the drama — Scene painting — The 
I)aintei' — Difficulties in scene painting— How to act — Macready's Method. Sent by 
mnl, post-paid, on receipt of 15c per copy. 

•"-, j^r,,. of ^ijg above, address A. D. AMES, Dramatic Publisher, Clyde, Ohio. 



"Ames' Plays— Continued. 



NO. JI. F. 

sa Out on the World 5 4 

5:^ Out in the Streets 6 4 

57 Paddy Miles' Boy 5 2 

29 Paiurer of Ghent 5 2 

114 Passions 8 4 

18 Poacher's Doom 8 3 

134 Pomp's Pranks 2 

165 Persecuted Dutchman 6 3 

156 Quiet Family 4 4 

51 Rescued 5 3 

110 Reverses 12 6 

45 Roclc Allen 5 3 

96 Rooms to Let 2 1 

171 Rough Diamond. 6 3 

59 Saved 2 3 

4S Schuaps 1 I 

107 School 5 

133 Seeing Bosting 3 

138 Sewina" Circle of Period., 5 

115 S. H. A. M. Pinafore 5 3 

55 Somebody's Nobodv 3 2 

94 16,000 Years Ago .' 3 

25 Sport with a Sportsman... 2 

79 Spy of Atlanta, 25e 14' 3 

92 Stage Struck Darkey 2 1 

10 Stocks Up, Stocks Down.. 2 

137 Taking the Census 1 1 

62 Ten Nights in Bar-Room 7 3 

64 That Boy Sam 31 

40 That Mysterious B'dle ... 2 2 

38 The Bewitched Closet 5 2 

87 The Biter Bit 5 2 

131 The Cigarette 4 2 

144 Thekla 6 7 

101 The Coming Man 3 1 



NO. M. F. 

67 The False Friend 6 1 

97 The Fatal Blow 7 1 

119 The Fortv-Niners 10 4 

167 Turn Him Out 3 3 

93 The Gentleman in Black 9 4 

112 The New Magdalen 8 3 

lis The Popcorn Man 3 1 

71 The Reward of Crime 5 3 

16 The Serf 6 3 

68 The Sham Professor 4 

6 The Studio 3 

102 Turn of the Tide 7 4 

54 TheTwoT. J's 4 2 

7 The Vow of the Ornani ..8 1 
2S Thirty-three nxtBrithd'y 4 2 

108 Those Awful Boys 5 

63 Three Glasses a Day 4 2 

105 Through Snow and Sun- 
shine 6 4 

142 Tit for Tat 2 1 

4 Twain's Dodging 3 1 

151 Wanted a Husband 2 1 

5 When Women Weep 3 2 

121 Will-o'-the-Wisp 9 4 

56 Wooing Under Difficulties 4 3 

41 Won at Last 7 3 

70 Which will he Marry 2 8 

135 Widower's Trials 5 4 

58 Wrecked 9 3 

147 Waking Him Up .. 1 2 

155 Why they Joined the Re- 

beccas 4 

156 Wig-Maker and His Ser- 

vants 3 

111 Yankee Duelist 2 2 

157 Yankee Peddler 7 3 



M^ilkiiis* Aiiiatt'iir Dramas. 

Designed for the use of schools, amateur entertainments, etc. This 
volu)iia contains the following plays: Rock Allen the Orphan, or Lost 
and Found ; Three Glasses a Day, or the Broken Home; Mother's Fool ; 
The Reward of Crime, or the Love of Gold ; The Coming Man ; The 
Turn of the Tide, or Wrecked in Port ; Hash. Neatly bound in cloth, 
price 75 cents. 

^^" Please IleinciQl»er that we can fill your orders for any 
play, dialogue book, speaker, guide book, piece of music, or anything 
in the line of amateur supplies such as wigs, beards, mustaches, face 
jiowders, paints, colored tires, lightning — in a word, anything you may 
find yourself in need of. We shall be ready to answer your letters of 
inquiry at any time, and invite correspondence. In remitting please 
send a postal note, or a money order, where they can be obtained, or 
small amounts may be sent in one or two cent postage stanifis. 

Address A. D. AMES, Pub., Clyde, Ohio. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




EVERY AM. 

WANTS A C( 'T015 793 182 9 

And Should Order it at Once!! 



HINTS TO AMATEURS. 

BY A. D. AMES. 

A book of u>eful information for Amateurs an<l others, written 
exprci^slx' for those wlio are <?ivin£: public entertainments — and who 
wish to make their eft'orts successful — containing much information 
never befoie given. Mr. Ames has had many years experience, and 
in this work gives many liints which cannot fail to ))e of great l)ene- 
lit to all. ^__________ 

Do you wish to knoAV How to act? 

Do you wish to know How to make up? 

Do you wish to know How to make fuse*? 

Do you wish to know How to be prompted? 

Do you wish to know How to imitate clouds ? 

Do you wish to know How to imitate waves? 

]^o you wish to know How to make thunder? 

Do j'ou wish to know How to produce snow? 

Do you wish to know How to articulate? 

Do you wish to know How to make lightning? 

Do you wish to know How to produce a crasli? 

Do you wish to know How to make a wind-storm? 

Do you wish to know How to be successful on the stage? 

Do you wish to know The effects of the drama on the mind ? 

Do jou wish to know How to assign parts successfully y 

Do you wish to know The duties of the property man ? 

Do you wish to know How to arrange nuisic for plays? 

Do you wish to know jSIany hints about the stage? 

Do you wish to know How to form a dramatic club? 

Do you wish to know The duties of a manager? 

Do you wish to know The duty of the prompter? 

Do you wish to know How to conduct rehearsals? 

Do you wish to know The best method of studying? 

Do you Avish to know How to make a stage laugh y 

Do you wish to know How to burn a colored tire? 

Do you wish to know How to make a rain storm ? 

I>o you wish to know A short history of the drania? 

Do you wish to know All about scene painting? 

Do you wish to know Macready's method of acting? 

If you wish to know the above, read Hints to Amateurs, it will bo 
-lut you for 1.5 cents per co]*}' by Addressing 

A. D. AMES, Pub'r., 
Lock Box 102. Clyde. Ohio. 



